Killing the buds,
One by bloody one,
In hands, folded into iron
Marking disaster where you tread
Deep in the steps of worrying oblivion.
I can count your tears,
Face your aromatic fears.
The bleeding pain will not cause
You, to become the effect.
Your love is a ruined thorn,
Radiant on stem,
Fallen, to be reborn.
Love has departed from your wings,
Burying themselves into dust,
Of yourself, in the rust.
Your eyes heal the death of me,
While my hands lift the life of you.
You cry your defeat into the ashes,
As dust is centered atop your eyelids,
Releasing a storm
For space to follow
Back through hollowness.
Love is two wings too heavy,
Centered on scorn,
Birthed into a thorn.
Like dripping venom, you intoxicate me,
Learn the rabid of the parasites.