As the witching haour
Approaches
I hear the
Voice
Of my form beloved
Saudi
Prince
Who ended his life
Because of my actions
These loving voices wake
Me from the deepest sleep
Making me alert as a dog

These Crimson tears
I begin to shed
Are not the result of
A virus
Or bacteria but from
Being plagued and haunted
By my horrific past
The first two years of my life
Tortured by islamic jihadis
The adoptive mother could give
A **** less
Being bullied for my
Past and
Blood
Broken relationships
These Crimson tears
Are the result of
Years of torture