Intertwining vines between thin fingers,
ones which bear knives but adorn blossoms and bliss—
The once crafted petals pouring deep into carved wounds,
as crimson hues cascade, thorns threading every stitch

Whilst sewed beneath the seam, a poison I had dreaded so
which skewed my sharpened vision, my heart weakened to a woe
The stitch I sew is weak, although, must I dread when we're apart?
For the venom strikes within my veins and steals my somber heart.