deepundergroundpoetry.com
Staind by the mouth of hate
Black ink pours from a crimson stain.
The ink is of all colors,
But comes in one shade.
A melodic memoria of the ones of today.
As it drips, it clots..
But, never shall it fade.
It fills the open room..
But, only stains the one in view.
Can the black heal the open wound
Of which it came?
Or only wither it more..
Along with all of its stains?
The ink is of all colors,
But comes in one shade.
A melodic memoria of the ones of today.
As it drips, it clots..
But, never shall it fade.
It fills the open room..
But, only stains the one in view.
Can the black heal the open wound
Of which it came?
Or only wither it more..
Along with all of its stains?
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