As Poets we tend to find beauty in the horrid. We put fear in love but still fall for it. Far from the beauty and the beast we find beauty in the beast. Like a double homicide, suicide And a love letter left behind;
"How could you! if I love you even now when I contemplate our deaths I still want to be laid a rest by your side. As for him, his body can burn and be turned to ashes. Or should he be buried in a open casket thirty feet deep so the heat can moist the skin and help it rot away. The stink for the filth he is. Let the dirt cover up what the worms and the magets will eat. God please for give me for the actions I will shortly take, yet these are not my sins. You showed me the path of peace but today the devil over took me. If you can't find it in you to forgive me then then you're not righteous. She is my wife and not even in death we'll be apart."
That love is so deep it cut through the skin swift like a samurai sword. No pain as the blood gushed from the neck like it hit a vein. Love so strong it sprung hate... so deep that pierced through the skin with a double edge knife. Not once not twice but thirty-three times as if death was sent by christ. Not one cut was precise. That's the beauty in poetry As two body lay a rest Floor covered in red Sirens approach In blood he writes If Picasso would had never displayed his art the world would had never known him A bullet in the magnum As he laid next to his wife kissed her with trembling lips one last time Digged the gun deep into his mouth So far deep he gagged then plaow. Last bit of blood splatter
The beauty of love and hate A poet a artist master-take is finding beauty in death as in life.
Love can turn a man mad and have him commit horrendous acts but is done for love which all in all is beautiful. Love-tred