You craved suffering.
You attempted to stab my flesh while persuading me that you were a thorny rose.
Roses can indeed draw blood, yet they also possess beauty.
Your spirit thrives in shadows, and beauty has faded from your sight.
The tall grass murmurs your falsehoods, and the breeze spreads your treacherous ways.
I have left the stage, no longer willing to engage in your games.
My spirit is devoted to the light, while you, my dear, are destined for the night.

-Rhia Clay