Standing in crimson flowers,
hands soaked in hatred,
what it seems like hours,
the anger has not faded.
Smell of bad cologne in the air.
Blood lust unable to bare.
No more moments to spare.
To find their addicting lair.
Running with speed and friction,
burning flowers quickly bloom,
bodies start piling in their tomb,
a sole ticket to destruction.
The heat of burning organs.
The music of screaming fortunes.
Ash hands and their contortions.
Faces sculpted in distortions.
There are bones in this zen garden.
Remainders of a hasty bargain,
for revenge, a heart, hardened.
and redemption it's last warden.
Speed created friction in my veins.
Happiness burned amidst the flames.
Now free from hate's chains.
Loneliness is what remains.