Thread:I love scary stories/@comment-25137684-20140414222725/@comment-6418997-20140424041400

A Expert timer is what it takes.

A clock will never tell the proper time.

To make it before midnight to save Cinderella.

Running from the world and the past itself.

A rose that was born in concrete.

Is left in sorrow, or so those whispers say.

The voices that say " you are worth a grain of sand"

The voices that scream " what's the point in falling in love if it ends in tears"

But those voices shake and quiver for they will pass.

Scars heal but bleed before they do.

That darkness, which was bright and light.

Now black as coal.

All that little rose wanted was for her black pettles to turn red again.

But the demons avoided her like an outcast.

Why are people so cruel?

However when she blooms her pettles won't be red.

They shall be gold.

The eyes of the people stare and wonder.

What her voice would say is fading in the tracks.

The concrete as soft as wool.

The butterfly's that love to see her beauty.

Yes indeed, many love that little rose.

Even the shadows beneath.

There's my poem I hope it makes you feel better...