The rain was just a metaphor
on a Monday evening...

Bare feet carved lullabies
for your thunderstorms...

These words are made of dynamite-
they leave static, blank faces...

Scarlet were the words spilled tonight,
sublime despite my luscious perfume...

Apocalyptic
Beliefs...

Artistic,
flirtatious verses...

I got quite used to a word mind-game,
selling out every lie just to taste the tears...

I paint this sorrow to match your eyes
filled with emerald dew of the words unspoken...

Masterpiece of affliction wounds imagination,
vendetta speaks for itself all over again...

Northern heartbeats succumb to the umbra,
as if we were born to die here, allured...

Ornamented with purple flowers
obscure silhouette, unearthly...

Grievous thirst, perish!
Succumb to my somber needing...