10:00 pm
"In lores written on skins: deep in red,
They say- Love is a parasite.
Spells woven in lies and comfort made it whole. Almost perfect.
Devouring every ounce of flesh it crept on to-
Blood red, blood red.
Roses dried. Women sacrificed-
Rituals written in a language we all fail to fathom; almost always
Red turned brown on pages that smell of broken promises- time measured in aeons."
.
.
.
2:18 am
I see the lights flickering in the distant background across the sky
Your eyes look into mine-
a thousand galaxies
Your skin rough, your lips soft:
Blood red, blood red
I sighed. Love is after all nothing
But a parasite.
And then
there's a kiss, in a darkened room.
I feel it- the parasitic dread.
.
.
.
7:20 am
I am dead.