The devil once asked how I knew the way in hell,
I said I don’t need a map for the darkness I know so well.
Red; under my sleeves, fills my vision and makes me faint,
My mind could have guessed at the colour of paint.
Lost not found, stolen not taken,
Forged my lies and leaves me shaken,
Calloused hands grip at my veins and tug at my heart,
Bring Guns and Roses to my place for a start.
Then listen to my curse as I recite my poem, a void,
Understand how my head is filled with red destroyed.
Read my scars like lines in a book,
To the river that flows at the end of the crook.
Pray that my truth would come out fast,
Or my body and soul could be separate at last.