Sometimes the harsh acid of love stings my nerves and
I waste away like dead rose petals in the gutter.

I linger near our garden and turn my head thinking that
I will catch your famished eyes beholding me.

But only clouds of surrender hover over my shoulder.

I sit with my abandoned self and try to gather some leaves, 

some pieces of life.

I mourn with melancholic rains.

Black roses bloom to embrace me with their doleful, 

darksome petals.

I rest my heart in their tender cradles until finally the
soils of death call for me.