Here's a poem Bryce wrote while on his mission. His companion asked him afterwards, "Are you going Goth on me?" Try not to take it seriously (if it's possible to take Bryce seriously). It is all for fun.
Tangled as I turn with pain
No one really there, no worries, no stains.
My blood drips with fallen roses
As the petals part like water of Moses
Many thoughts are being flustered
Just the idea of ketchup over mustard
If I were a rose what color would I be?
Would I choose the color of death or eternity?
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