I weave a shroud of night, a cloak of deepest black,

It wraps around my thoughts, a sorrow turning back

On memories that linger, whispers of a past,

A love that burned to embers, a dream that could not last.

The dark and well that is my heart spills forth its inky tide,

Black mascara stains my cheeks where laughter did reside.

The sun, a distant memory, veiled by a stormy sky,

No warmth can pierce the darkness, no answer to my cry.

Ebony crows with mournful voices circle overhead,

Their wings beat out a haunting dirge, a symphony of dread.

The wind, a mournful banshee, through barren branches sighs,

Wailing for all that’s broken, a lament for our demise.

Black roses, thorns like daggers, pierce a bleeding soul,

Their velvet petals whisper of a love that lost control.

The path ahead is shrouded, a labyrinthine maze,

Lost in the endless darkness, through lonely, hollow days.

But in the inky blackness, a flicker I behold,

Perhaps within the shadows, there’s a story yet untold.

For even blackest night must yield to dawn’s first light,

And though the scars may linger, a new day may ignite.