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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 09, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 09, 2007




A pillow in blood, the sheets bled in its means, drips as they lead in to the washroom. Only to be leading from out the window and leaving what was left on the ledge.

A breakfast of sacrifice, not a breakfast for fed. A cold sloshed, thrusting cup of fruit juice and as it too has been bled. Under the suns final shine, from where she has once been met. His alter ego lets him be. For under it, a shadow had light, for the darkness has been.

From in its very step, a blood from how it once dripped. Sets in for his story of an explanation once yet.

A long lasting moment, the moment he will get. He seen her once again, then knows she would be next.

From how the blood once had meaning, is from how he was bled; now as she has seen it, for now it was him.

His cruel emotion lets her be from when it once happens, and then it was she bled from him.

As the blood had its drips the drip in to bed. A pillow once soaked in, a spill how it led.

From when it was ego's, from how it was met and as a light in the fruit juice will for once and once again.

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