~~~ Crimson ~~~

Crimson words
On ivory parchment
That pulse and bleed
Technicolor insanities;

With tainted thoughts
And antiphonic whispers
Comes the artistry
Of a morbid poet.

Ink is blood
The thought, an artery
As psychotic razors
Slash his creativity,
Gushing a story
On a winter white page

Ancestral spirits
Guided these hands,
Touched gently their wisdom
To my hungry lips
That I should guide you
To life eternal, and for this
Still you mock me…
And I shall not forgive...

When the fruits of my labor
Have withered and died
And everyone moans deep
Its fear of genocide
I will summon the voracious scavenger
To rip and feed of my flesh,
Suck the blood of mine dry.

She bleeds ink,
Drips psychotic rivers
Of rushing lost-words...

Its crimson soul
On ivory parchment
...and somewhere far
A throat opens, swallows deep
Her poison poetry…