black roses never wilt

Black roses never wilt in the gardens growing inside damaged souls

Their petals stay dark forever beneath moonlight and unresolved grief

I keep a bouquet beside my bed like funeral trophies from every relationship that poisoned me beautifully

Even dead things look loyal compared to people nowadays

Motherfucker she brought me black roses after our worst argument

Rain dripping from her coat onto my apartment floor like melted sorrow

Mascara smeared beneath exhausted eyes

Hands shaking slightly while pretending anger mattered more than love still did

Bitch the flowers looked unnatural in the dim kitchen light

Too dark

Too perfect

Like something cultivated in hell’s greenhouse beside abandoned prayers and luxury addictions

I touched the petals carefully expecting them to bleed

She whispered these reminded me of you

And fuck that line stayed buried inside my chest ever since

Because black roses don’t symbolize ordinary sadness

They symbolize endings dressed elegantly

Love surviving long enough to decay into obsession and memory

We sat silently smoking while thunder rolled outside the windows

City lights flickering through rain like broken halos above drowning streets

The whole apartment smelled like cigarettes, wet fabric, and emotional surrender

Even breathing felt intimate in all that darkness

Black roses never wilt

That’s the curse

Some pain stays fresh forever no matter how many years pass around it

Some names still echo through your nervous system long after the bodies attached to them disappear completely

Motherfucker I kept those flowers alive longer than the relationship itself

Changed the water obsessively

Trimmed the stems carefully like performing surgery on memories

Meanwhile we were killing each other slowly through silence, pride, and untreated trauma

Funny how humans nurture symbols better than actual connections sometimes

She used to kiss me like confession after catastrophe

Slow

Desperate

Almost religious in intensity

Like we both understood intimacy might be temporary but still worshipped it recklessly anyway

Then came the distance

That quiet modern decay where love dies through unread messages and emotional exhaustion instead of dramatic betrayal

Two people sleeping beside each other while spiritually drifting toward separate continents internally

Two lonely motherfuckers pretending routine still counts as passion

Black roses never wilt because darkness preserves itself naturally

Joy fades

Hope erodes

But grief stays vivid as fresh scars beneath fluorescent light

Maybe suffering survives longer because the body memorizes danger more carefully than happiness

Bitch I remember smashing a wine glass against the wall during our final fight

Red liquid dripping down white paint like abstract crucifixion

She screamed you romanticize your own misery too much

And maybe she was right

Maybe I turned pain into identity because healing felt unfamiliar

Maybe sadness became safer than vulnerability after enough abandonment

Maybe I kept choosing emotionally unavailable people because chaos sounded more honest than peace

Outside sirens cried through the night air like wounded angels searching for lost faith

The apartment trembling softly from passing trains beneath the city

Rainwater leaking through cracked windowsills onto old vinyl records and unpaid bills

Everything looked cinematic enough to fool us into staying longer than we should have

Black roses never wilt

I stared at them after she finally left for good

Apartment silent except for my heartbeat stumbling through nicotine and regret

One petal fell onto the table slowly

Even that tiny movement felt symbolic somehow

Motherfucker grief makes ordinary objects supernatural

Coffee mugs become haunted relics

Bed sheets preserve ghosts through lingering perfume

Flowers transform into emotional graveyards blooming quietly beside insomnia

I carried those roses with me through three different apartments afterward

Wrapped carefully in old newspaper like sacred remains

Friends told me throw them away already

But they didn’t understand

Some symbols become part of your bloodstream after enough suffering gets attached to them

Years later I still dream about her occasionally

Standing beneath streetlights with black roses pressed against her chest

Eyes tired as abandoned churches

Voice soft enough to sound almost forgiving

Then I wake up alone

Sheets cold

Phone silent

Morning light exposing every crack inside the room and inside me simultaneously

Black roses never wilt

Just like certain heartbreaks never fully leave the nervous system

They settle deep beneath the ribs

Blooming quietly whenever loneliness waters them after midnight

Reminding you that some love stories don’t end cleanly

They just rot beautifully over time

Like flowers too stubborn to die

Like memories too dark to fade

Like a damaged motherfucker still carrying funeral gardens inside his chest long after everybody else moved on from the burial entirely