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Colour

Medusa sits

36 puntcures away

a mere skeleton

Accosting me, haunting me, poisoning herself,

herself

The colour that fades, with the loss of

innosence, need be, regained, to show,

true form

Beautiful and serine when omitting the

blood-stained stream, from which my heart

beats and history repeats.

Right, now

To prevent atrophy tonight, or we

shall fade into the sky with the bile

that will soon dissipate into our sky

What started serine, like translusecent water

shineing in the sun corrupted with bother

I wish it would rain

Now my blood runs red,

Dripping from your needle

like the rain that falls

from your wounded steeple