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bloodshot eyes
cracked lips kiss the forehead,
and how remorsefully metallic
the saltiness of anguish:
the destiny to dye the innocence
of our linen an opposed clash,
for we sew our own silence
in and out of skin, for we
thread needles through
bloodshot eyes, for
we bleed the same
punctured heart
of crimson in
ultimatum of
lost love

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they say look past the skin;
they say the inside is what counts;
and did you know
crimson to be ubiquitous?