Crimson red roses
Arresting the sweet Fragrance
Antique silver bowl

I'm filled to the brim,
yet I'm still threatening
myself with a paper
gun behind my head.

My hands are feverishly
searching for the heart that
vanished with no warning,
whilst the swaying anxiety pushes
me over the familiar edge;
thus my world is turned
upside down, yet again.

The place where my dreams used
to pave the way, has been demolished.
Now a black hole is roaring,
and it's spilling ancient demons
that stain my happiness.
They dance their shadow dance
while chanting self-destructive orders.

I can hear them day and
night, but they are most
prominent from dusk to dawn.
And it's during these
lonely hours that my
ears get painted red
and my cheeks stay wet.