The Black Rose Rhapsody

The Black Rose Rhapsody

 Fear cannot save you now. Stare into the eyes of a killer. Let us listen to the bittersweet symphony before the truth kills us both. Come to the music hall. Together we shall listen to the Ballad of Fallen Angels and fall into beautiful oblivion. Do you taste it? It is the sweet communion of the fiend. Do you hear it? It is the sound of broken whispers. Do you dream the dreams of fever and see the dark seraphim? Come; let us dance the Gypsy Rhapsody in the crypts of Purgatory and drink of the forbidden flask. Escape the evening whispers and dream a little dream for me. Together we shall stare at the broken moon. Bleed for me, my darling, in the sweet violet moonlight. Take the last breath first. Tell me sweet lies. Is death just a dream that does not end? The last fragments of you fade to remembered memories...

              They say that innocence is a gift and irony is sin. Then give me a life worth living! Maybe tomorrow, my sweet. Let us loose ourselves in a maze of dreaming as we weep to the Midnight Blues. Sing with me the Good-bye Reprise. Forget the damaged roses; stop playing the Rhapsody of Time. Happiness is a worn pun. Walk with me in Lucifer's Garden and lay in heartbreak tonight. Weep to our raining Symphony. No on likes to say good-bye, but know that it is only in our dreams, and soon we shall be piercing that void. One of us will die in the labyrinth of night. 

              Play for me a rhapsody in pieces and a Soliloquy for the Devil, because even angels fall, you know. Stop waiting for Death at the door as you sing yesterday's hymn. Sing instead the Sonata of the Sinner as you wait for me where the dying roses wither in fields of scarlet. Tell me; is this the finale of a forsaken dream?

              We danced to a melody of maybes and sang the Ballad of Two Angels. Fairy tale endings aren't real. Look at the second stanza; it's like some broken rhyme. Say a prayer for the dying. Broken words, fleeting dreams, and wordless sentences all created a rendezvous in ruins. Just say die. Sing the Angel Blues on the edges of an afterlife. 

              It's nearly time for Twilight's Symphony. Such are the saintly sufferings of angels in Purgatory. When the sun sleeps, I shall sing to you the Lullaby for the Injured Soul. Such are the shades of blood as we dance to the Blued Eyed Hustle. Before another second ticks away, sing for absolution. Let Death by your lullaby. It is sorrow's sound. Deliver me! Cry for a shadow to the rhythm of the rain. Let me dream in this sweet misery to your broken reflection. Such is the language of silence. 

              I'll listen to the unsanctified confessions of a broken dreamer as we lay dismissing reality. It was a broken hearted melody when Death whispered a lullaby. Is it you? Such are the perilous eyes that went to the birth of a Reaper. What is the cost of dreams? Promise Heaven tastes like this? Sounds of the heart are the sweetest good-bye; the piano haunting of Deja vu.

              Then take me on a silent escape to the shadows of the past. We shall listen to the battle of the bells as we make a memory to be forgotten. You'll play the second encore; this unknowable misery wrapped in a sugar-sweet Hell. I am the King of Sorrow and you are my unloved angel. 

              Deliver me from my broken reflection! There is something I can never have, and that is dancing with your shadow. Play for me our secret Sonata in the vesture of dreams; even the faintest of hearts still bleed. And after the evening whispers decrescendo, I shall hum to you the Remembrance Ballad and we shall dance the Salvation Waltz to the tune of the Ages of Fate. Just for forever, the tainted mirrors will break shattered glass in moments of deceit just before the angels fall. 

              I want no gravestone on this illuminated silence. The black cat never dies. To own an angel’s heart; this is my mercy. Crash and burn when the clock strikes one. Is there madness to the method? Where the wind blows, I am a child of darkness; Fortune's fool; the defiant soldier chasing the wind. I commemorate this divine apocalypse with a drink of silence. Who is the keeper of shattered dreams? Crescendo the shadowed whispers to reveal the portrait of a shattered woman... you. Such is the sinful enchantment in these unholy hours.

              As we listen to one last sonata, one last symphony, one last waltz, we shall know that it all lead up to this. The bloody shadows. The bloodstained terror. Out last dance: the Blood Red Hustle. It is our last crescendo, these hopeless secrets of fallen angels and dead gods. We wish for reincarnated reality as I leave you limp in the crimson shadows holding roses for the dead. The glass shards of my mind sing to you. The song is never lost, just forgotten: 

              The music box is broken; or it is? It starts to play and a haunting tune fills the air. I awake suddenly from my dream; there is no music box, and yet, there it is - a tiny one, nestled in the palm of my hand, and I awake from my dream again as if I were pealing an onion. It's a dream no matter how far I go. I can never reach reality, trapped in an endless nightmare...