Haunted at the mist.
Shadows swallow me whole.

Visions of the past.
Shadows beckon my call.

Summons of the evil.
Pierces at the heart.

Casting out the spells.
Pierces every part.

I drew a picture,
so simple and clean.

I drew on it canvas,
so ugly and mean.

I drew with it crayon
with red and black.

I drew it with anger
with a knife in my back.

I drew from my mind
and things that you hid.

I drew from inside
and hole that you dig.

I drew a picture,
thought it was cute.

I drew it on canvas,
thought I killed you.

If you had an hour to live..
Would you spend that hour saying that an hour isn't enough.

In the bag of death he lay,
all zipped up, here to stay.

Upon his toe, there hangs a tag,
Dead on Arrival, lies on the slab.

Eyes closed shut, red everywhere.
Taken away,  nobody cares.

His pain is gone, he cries no more.
Silence is simple, down to the core.

Shot in the chest, wouldn't you know?
Another victim is gone named John Doe.

I've never felt a red rose,
never pricked myself on a thorn,
never smelled it in or got lost in eyes.
My mother has a red rose -- my father gave
it to her, and it is beautiful, and it is kind, and it
is loving, and it is something I have  never  seen.

This  pink  rose  is  something  trying  too ­ hard to be red.
Slashing and  ripping  at clothes  with  sharpened  words,
claiming it’s  merely  the  thorns  of a red. This pungency
is blamed upon  me:  I can  not  handle  the  sickly sweet
succor stuck under my  suffocating  nose. He holds  me
by the chin, condemning eyes borrowing into mine, grip  
tightening. This pink rose is dead, withered, wilted
and weathered by the storm we’re caught in.
Everyone sees  red  where there is none

--  o r   p e r h a p s   t h a t ’ s   j u s t   t h e   b l o o d  ?  --

this pink rose has me trembling,  fearing
his appearance and his eyes; knowing
he’s   stronger   than   me,   but   the
uncertainty of “would he?” scares
me more. I can’t leave because
that same knife he used upon
me, he threatens his own
skin. It’s such  a  small
world, such  a  small
town, such a small
neighborhood,
such a small
building.

I can’t walk these  halls
with  comfort  or  safety
anymore, not with those
eyes burning blame into
my    back    and    face.