In distress a heart that's drained,
Collapses as, no pain it feels.
Left behind wheals of the scarring chords of world in bidding, for redress,to sounds of music, deafening as thunder claps and lightning bolts, around thine head as if a crown, so rendering the wearer dead.
Icy silence, walks in tombs.
Walls all painted blood maroon.
Going underground into vaults that stink.
Paintbrush, enters stage left, paints darkened catacombs in vibrant candy pink.
Invigorated heart that's free.
As if a bird, whose name is me.
(c)LIVVI.