I've seen the end of my life just begin, a story only written until after it's read. I close my eyes with the pulse of a dying heart, laying down the burden of crimson dark. Shadows of morning, dead before the dawn. Twilight reveries for a sunrise that will never come. The scent of dusk warms the fragrance of a silent love. A narrative echo for a promise undone. A candle light glitter on the midnight frost, a requiem dance in rhythm with the pulse of loss. The erotic tears of her devilish kiss, a sinful whisper carried through the mist. Along her neck I see the marks of our life, etched in a reverie, signature ink onto a tourniquet of lies. Her poisonous blood I drank thinking it devine, intravenous death fed from the charm of her cries...
©midian23
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