She lay beside the bouquet of black roses,
All in black: she, him, and her memories.

The thought of the day
When he knocked on her door;
His handsome smile,
Smooth, pale skin under silk clothes.
A gentleman, she could see.
Her Black Valentine, was he.

He held her hand, gracefully, tenderly,
"Sorry for waiting, darling," he says,
Taking her under his wing,
"The moon is full, the night so young,
Life so innocent, so pure,
I wish to take you away tonight,
To slip away from the real world."

Entranced in his world, she closes her eyes,
Her body unfolding as she lay,
In the blanket of white snow
Where angels had once lived... and died.

He kisses her lips,
Softly caressing her cheeks,
Buying her love;
Killing her slowly.
Unaware of the pain, she sleeps,
Wrapped in his lust,
Wrapped in a dark reality.

A swift twinge; a silent break,
She opens her eyes and writhes,
Watching him drink from her veins.
She screams; she cries; she can't breathe.
"Oh, my, how could I,
Not have seen this coming?"

She thrives;
She suffocates;
She fades;
She dies.

A bouquet of black roses lay beside
She in the soft white.
A final tear has fallen; an angel shall fly,
She was seduced; she was in love;
She was killed by her Black Valentine.