He was like the wind. The wind that caresses you before it passes you by.
He was the empty night sky. From where I see him, the stars don’t shine anymore.
He was the midnight lamp. The one that goes out when you’ve still got a little more of yourself to pour out.
He was the rose. He was also the thorn that pierced through.
He played with cards. With hearts. And anything that would wreck lives.
She saw a bed of roses at her feet. She was deceived. For they turned into nails…
And steams of blood ran across.