Paint your lies in blood,
The metaphor is true,
Every time I look at your face,
I wonder what I saw in you.
The lies was given,
Like a bucket of flowers,
But I didn't see,
I was too busy counting the hours.
The blood in the sky,
Was easily mistaken,
By the roses that you offered,
The lies were already taken.
I choose to believe you,
Even though you didn't stay,
You didn't care at all,
You said you painted the lies by mistake.
So when you sampled the lies,
With the bloody truth,
You made me understand,
It was never you.
Even if I begged for it to be,
Even if I wished for you to stay,
The blood was floating on our painting,
That's when I knew that it was never gonna be okay.
YOU ARE READING
Dust of the untold
PoetryYet another poem collection, Ready to be free, Words written down by a stranger, Some scars you just got to see. A collection of hearts, A bucket of sorrow, A box of pain and my deepest thoughts. These are untold stories, From a closed soul, and a c...
