Not a cloth nor powders of bronze
Adorn your skin of gold
A silver's corners with its sharp edge you pressed hard
Against your neck
A small cut like of a paper they induced

You're scared

Resembling an image of yourself
Close to you
Or so it seemed
And inside the eyes,
A rose to wilt between sharp rubies
In long forthwith,
Drowning in crimson bromine

You surrendered.