The clock strikes five and a rose petal tauntingly drifts down to the floor. One of the last petals that cover my dying heart.
Sadly they will soon all find their way on the cold tile and my heart be covered in nothing but thorns.
The only thing to save a beast from this cold dreaded isolation is a rare beauty from a distant land.
One with a poetic appreciation for words like no other.
One with a compassionate flame encasing their soul.
One to never leave.
A Beauty to love this Beast.
A Queen for this King.
But Alas this tale as old as time has not a true line in it.
For a beast may never know love.
Only the silent solitude the moon offers every night.