Crimson Cut
My heart continues to bleed,
at least I know I'm alive.
Love has yet for me to breathe
and hinders thoughts to survive.
I am but a blank page of art,
for which many colours appear.
They take no direction or start,
for I begin to disappear.
Crimson, softly, smoothly, fitting,
crimson, expanding, quickly, filling,
awaking the areas on the surface,
static travels underneath.
I am left blind but exactly aware,
crimson, roughly, sticky, seeping,
crimson, rising, dripping, Bleeding.
Thine thoughts pricked
and fly with ease,
eyes closed shut
and my visions seized.
A burning sensation clasps my nose,
instantaneously I froze.
The pain pierces my skin,
effortlessly travels within.
It is here where the numbness resides,
a substance drenches the veins,
like it purposely has to abide,
this pain forever remains.
Crimson, torchers, alcohol, pain.
Crimson seeps through
bloodshed and vain.
Immaculously, maliciously, cleanses
the wound, spreading like fever.
As the crimson tries to spread like salt,
this brutal suffering travels deeper.
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