I thought about the paint,
Spilled across the walls.
A blinded Saint,
And yet to love one still falls.
Claim to see beauty in pain,
Fight for a martyr,
Blame the right, proven insane,
Sees and loses the ear.
The lovers’ knife kills.
A mosaic of an armor,
With each piece,a role to fill.
Hidden behind shut doors.
A crooked grin on the night sky,
The one you call romantic.
Nothing’s sweet about a lie.
The serpent’s tongue flicks.
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