She made murals from the red flowing off her hands.
Every splatter a deeper shade.
Her cadaver looked like an old relic, adorned with cuts and scratches, weathered from years of savagery.
Every scrape on her hide created a deeper gouge in her diminishing heart.
She etched her pain deep into the walls, just like the nightmares in her conscious.
She relived her pains every night, calling out for mercy, as if she was the sinner.
But oh she wasn't, because she was the sin.
They called her 'The Lady in Red', she was anything but.
Outside she wore a mask of sinful allure but her insides were ashes and her soul drowned in black.
Every splatter she made with her ichor, she wished for cessation, for her pain to end.
But, alas, she had to do it herself.
She stepped into the grave, face burning with salty trails, her throShe made murals from the red flowing off her hands.
Every splatter a deeper shade.
Her cadaver looked like an old relic, adorned with cuts and scratches, weathered from years of savagery.
Every scrape on her hide created a deeper gouge in her diminishing heart.
She etched her pain deep into the walls, just like the nightmares in her conscious.
She relived her pains every night, calling out for mercy, as if she was the sinner.
But oh she wasn't, because she was the sin.
They called her 'The Lady in Red', she was anything but.
Outside she wore a mask of sinful allure but her insides were ashes and her soul drowned in black.
Every splatter she made with her ichor, she wished for cessation, for her pain to end.
But, alas, she had to do it herself.
She stepped into the grave, face burning with salty trails, her throat acidic with the words she never said.
