Escape?

Acres of blood stained lands.

And. Your scarlet-dyed hands.

Not a chimera. Not a simple speculation.

Bewildered hallucination.

 

But this is more than just a trance.

Vicious. Diabolic glance.

I hunger for pain.

I’m no longer. Quite sane.

 

I dig my fingernails into ardour.

Rip it apart. Exists no more.

Infactuation. Terminated.

Love’s sacred structure. Luxated.

 

Escape? Good sense of humour.

Dreams. Crashing to the floor.

The key to the exit. Absent.

All good intentions. Bent.

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