Time seeps out like blood under my top,
No way to destain and the ripples don\'t seem to stop,
The silent ooze tarnishes the pristine white,
Turning everything dark instead of a bright light,
And while on the outside all harm is cosmetic,
The damage inside is more poetic,
Pain breeds from an inside battle,
But disruption leads it to become a public struggle,
Blood was never meant to mix with purity,
But it occurs through the lack of self security,
Needing to release this pent up anger,
Is what leads to white turning amber,
With time and blood all flowing away,
And they all end with someone\'s dismay,
The unquenchable thirst of this wet void,
As time splashes over enveloping fhe noise,
Noise of struggle and dispare,
To bring the blood back in for repair,
Damnation awaits times next victim,
As interior blood flows from within him,
Stained with death the white shirt yearns,
For time to let its fortune turn,
But times diminishes any hope for the shirt,
As the last splutter of blood ends the hurt,
Now the white shirt converts to that of a red persuasion,
And time seeks out another life ending occasion.