On Crimson Petals
on crimson drenched petals
and scarlet folds
dew
like tears, like blood
clings to the delicate flower
withering in the breeze
like tears, like blood
falling, dripping
from eyes wounded at having seen too much
from a mind numbed into a solitary prison as such
like blood, like tears
flowing freely with nothing to hide
except the ache that lies coiled up tight inside
tears and blood
drowning the soul
in a torrential flood
of pain, of torn thoughts, of wasted moments entire
like tears, like blood
drowning, smothering
the will
and quelling all desire
like bloodied tears
trickling down
clipping at the being
with emotion-less shears
consuming the soul with countless fears
of today, and tomorrow, and the passing of the years
as the dew clings to the delicate petals, and intricate folds
of the crimson flower
drenched in scarlet, bloodied tears
knowing not what the future holds...
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