the slow art of breathing bitter

All That Can Be Seen Now Is Red

All that can be seen now is red.

The day's over, darling, and so is the sunlight.

It's trodding through the pale yellow snow 

with red bidding eyes.

You still search for her on the wine-red horizon,

digging in the yellow snow 

and crying for her on the glistening streets.

A handful of daffodil snow and radiant flames enveloping her corpse.

You lie on the maroon grass of your garden.

The snow in your hands melts away like golden dust.

Your limbs, soaked in red and razor cuts,

drown in the symphony of tears and disgust.

Tears that could color the soil green;

Tears that could make the tulips dance;

Tears that could brighten the sky;

Tears that could never bring her back to you.

The battle hasn't ended, darlin'.

It's just another blue night rolled over

in the crashing blue waves.

Red and melancholia brim in your eyes.

Her corpse's wide awake for you 

to embrace her in another cruel death

in the crimson raindrops against your shirt.

Did the trees see the last purple winter?

In the salty mist and dirty air, 

her heart was split in two in the bullets.

Did they see the blood and her sins plunging into the Ganges?

The last second passed with a petal of a smile.

A crimson thunderbolt. It's always been you, dear. You.

Lucifer reaches for her—a thousand bleeding hands.

The sun takes its last earthy breath;

A pack of wild wolves licks at her body.

A red flag flutters in hymns on their soil.

You're but a helpless demon—an incorporeal.

She returns through the pores of the ground

where you lick the bubbling blood.

You still for a second;

The same smell, her.

But your young mind is unaware that whatever is yours could never belong to the right person.

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A/N: I guess this could own an honest vote from you if you liked it ;)