The colour of black

That was his real colour

He wasn't purple
He wasn't blue
And he wasn't red

He was black

Pure black

Just like his hoodie

And his eyes

As long as his personality.

But that beautiful flower

Who hold the colour black

Had many mystery

Like from the grain the brought him in the ground

To how the throne hurt your soul

Those untold questions destroy it

Along with the other nature around that beautiful flower

It hurt so much

That the flower destroyed itself

Self-destruction