Starless | Poetry ✔️

30| Too Late

he was skin and bone,

never once counting his heart.

and the blood in his veins,

was where he drew the ink for his art.

dabbles of scarlet red,

portrayed an image of how he saw the world.

could something be so cruel?

they never saw how fast his panic whirled.

he was screams and cries,

never once admitting why he was lost.

and the thoughts in his mind,

was perhaps why he feared the dark frost.

dabbles of silent white,

portrayed by an image of how he saw his life.

could something be so beak?

they never saw how tight he gripped the knife.

until it was too late.