The White Rose

A darkened sky,

A copious fog,

A discrete little town full of nightmares.

A piercing cry

From a bandaged dog,

Signals the end for all.

The white rose smells sweet,

The white rose is pure,

Surrounded by blood,

Tainted by the horror.

A muffled moan,

A cry of death,

A monster begins to feast.

A crack of bones,

A rip of flesh,

Another life taken away by the creatures.

The white rose smells sweet,

The white rose is pure,

Wilting in the dark,

It cannot endure.

The dead wail,

The living die,

Is there no way to escape this fate?

A living Hell,

The living cry,

In the town of Silent Hill.

The white rose smells sweet,

The white rose is pure,

Now dyed with blood

And covered in gore…