You cannot hide behind...

I watch the glow throw me back.

My mind knows past gashes and wounds.

Lie to me, make fake tears and trust.

It's not like I tried to paint the town red.

Treat me just as badly when we were not the darkest.

Sometimes we wished risks didn't end with blood.


Love it when snowfall meets blood.

Lie down and make angels behind your back.

Runes in the white hide all the wounds.

Dust of water is snow, Dusk in times of Trust.

Bled dust stained the snow soul red.

Farthest hope is listless when black is not the darkest.


Fright harkens me to love my hour darkest.

Glance past Trust when I can dance in blood.

Grab me where i lack so you can stab me in the back.

Sometimes in the gloom you cannot hide behind your wounds.

I'm doing my best to hide my disgust but it's all a big mess and you ruined my trust.

Life fills me with dread but why cry when I can make your soul red.


Abuse yourself, bedridden. Refuse, Red.

Knife slits deepest causing trips to joy darkest.

Stabs anew, bloom just to collapse in your own blood.

I exist to fade to black; jaded, I turn my back.

Healing doesn't come from sounds; Hearing pleasant pain for my wounds.

Instead my knife I thrust in the night; in pain I trust.


The precipice: I'm on the cusp of finding the recipe for trust.

First things first however, dead will be whoever said those things that bled us all red.

I guess the hardest stress comes with darkest of the darkest.

I cry out for freedom from love as kingdoms arise from the pools filled with blood.

The winners pave histories tracks while a digger lies in the graves on his back.

gone is the moon fully, there is no one to see his wounds.


I'm so special, ripples of memory in my wounds.

Lust has harmed me, the darkness has tainted my trust.

Sinned, why have you sinned and said to hurt then ripped me red?

Was your head fuzzed, remarkless when I was at the darkest?

You always loved the hallways streaked with our blood.

Did you always plan your attack? Did you always slam the knife into my back?


I have lost trust in the pit of my darkest hours.

Nobody was there to heal my wounds, non to watch my back.

My arms are red notebook lines, the blood the ink I carry.