The red on the flowers does not belong
The blood on your hands so fresh and new
Like morning dew on wet grass
You don't believe in bravery only an unfeeling passion
You fear only yourself
You try to run form the monster you've become
but you have nowhere to go
Neither do I
I laugh at your pain
The pitiful anguish on your face
I see you clearly now
In the mirror
YOU ARE READING
My crying soul
PoetryFor the days when the sun is smiling and the days when the clouds cry.
