Red isn't always romance, sometimes it's blood,
Moon isn't always for lovers, but sometimes for secret cries,
Flowers aren't always for marriage, but sometimes for grave,
Petals aren't always soft,
sometimes they prick the soul.
No plagiarism/No hat...
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That's my hand, which held swords of love to write battlefields of romance, bled ink on soaked paper, Now which writes tradegic lullabies to force myself to slumber, Wings cut off butterflies, I leave everything to the sky, Wishes, dreams, hopes, everything, i ask for mercy, for I'm not guilty of this suffering, why do i have to die? Heaven seeks pleasure playing with my life, I'm a puppet in this world made to be played with and left to die, bury me in the skies, write my name in the coffin, seal me within my slumber, sleep forever, hiberation and all that unawake emotions rise like tides, lashing through my eyes, unseen and unheard cries, forlorn deserts of time lost in seeking love from frozen hearts, bonds broken apart, being loved by their thorns thrusting into arteries, artists' eyes see nothing but beauty in all this misery, i don't want them to compliment, but just help me die. For i didn't wanted to die, but i have no options on my hand, as the sky of love slips down, my fate hating me yells they won, i lost. I'm defeated drunk in my own misery, soft dark tear saggy, world is bloody, they like you think i don't want anything, Truth is i want something which isn't meant to be mine ever, as my hands drown alone in the air of pain, I'm unable to breathe, unfound, and i seek my blood now, I'm drunk in my own blood, the sky turns red like once again, it's no more having that blue hue of sorrow, rather it's the red blood spreading over the ground where i lie.
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Yes it's my own hand not a wallpaper, today took it in roof reaching to the skies for help but angels don't exist.
