Actions canvas the swollen brain,
soul gets lost, ashes remain.
The needles ***** every
inch of the deserted heart,
with them I embroider
my words on a satin cloth
stained in bright red.
The words seem to
disperse away from
your sensation and only
red remains.
Intoxicated in insomnia
I brave another needle *****
as those words may disperse
from the stained satin cloth
but shall be firmly etched
as ideals in this vibrating heart.