In one of the deader darkness's that
fill my shadowed room, a scream, yet not a dream.
Blood drips of the tattered seems,
of a flimsy, fallen blind.
Lets take it back in time.
To look at your lover with murderous intensions.
As hard stones click against the harder stones in my eyes,
the stones being your lies. As the cold flint sparks to fireflys.
Yet monkey do, what monkey see and monkey saw a stinging bee,
armed. My very own glinting sting feel treason, to the old oak tree.
That lines our bed.
My murder born, from deadly rage,
reveled to me. Your final page.
You see every story has a end and its time to close the book on you my friend.
So with a coffee and rich tea.
I'll sit back
and watch your heart bleed.