Stains of Red

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You touch me with your hands, and splatter me with red, you strip me of my clothes, then if and when I try to escape this shadowed darkened land, you hit me with your fist of blows.

The tears that are wept, the secrets that were once kept, have seized to escape from the breath of my words. The rhythm to which you move shall never be one to sooth. You kick me out the door, then call me back when day breaks, just to hurt me more. Your words of need, your words of emptiness, buried in your drunken actions, that now hit with sober hatred melody. The breath that I breath to you is like a tease, saying i'm not dead. The words the action the thoughts that you brand in my spinning, running, racing, pacing, circled back again head. Your killing me piece by piece, taking and breaking. Leaving your kiss of death on my breath. Do we live to die? Are you weak if you cry?

Like a leaf that's falling, I die, without out someone to love, or be there, or protect me, like a leaf that shrivels, and is crushed with the embrace of triumphant death.

Now i'm put to rest...





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