Her

Her bed was crimson for

She had bled all night

The boys

They tried

To blame

Her kind

For rivers that flow

Red like embers

What they did not know

Was that the red

Turned to gold

The red turned to gold

The red turned to gold

The red turned to gold

 

Clear Skies. (?)

‘Life is just a game of charades really,’ he stated, turning his face towards the sun to bask in its morning warmth. As one mask fell off and another crawled above from the depths of his sins to settle smoothly upon his skin, he turned back around, smiled and said ‘Don’t believe people when they tell you otherwise. Be careful.’