Pretty things are much... prettier stained red.. wouldn't you agree?


I keep pushing at concrete.. slamming into it. By it, I mean all these walls...the walls of my mind are a maze..a maze of steel and pavements..

I keep running...only for those wretched walls to move, to shift. I eventually trip, and stumble.. crashing into the metal..the boundaries my demons have placed.. they've gotten comfortable..

Decorated the walls with..pretty pictures..of my fears..and doubts, oh how lovely! they've lined them with thorns..and rows of roses... white..fresh roses..

So when...I bleed...and the blood crimson droplets..they stain them... bright red..

Blood...we are born in it...we die in it


Blood is life...blood is death...

Blood is what my sins have been smeared in...painted by the roses..

  • Author: Eclisse 🌙 (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 27th, 2023 04:43
  • Comment from author about the poem: Another rain, another loves pain.
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 9
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