petals like blood.
the macabre follows us home, to our sleep.
and Hope with her innocence wings flew away, away.
her raven hair was torn away, splattered red.
revenge tastes like blood.
in the end, aren’t we all copies of the same person, just molded in different manners?
they dream of the End.
when perfection fails in its purpose.
in the blood swirling along the drain,a skull gapes a pretty smile,blank eyes brimming with the ghosts of the past