My kind of Red

I told myself To go with the flow Gosh I was so naive then And though somewhat I had known Of warmth and of love And how it all goes When I saw her All of it just froze She wasn't all sweet And warm like I'd been told But she was like blood Splashed over white snow She was like a fever dream Shards of red glass melting into the glow Of a crimson flame A mesmerizing show. Toxic yet intoxicating. A sugarcoated sword. It was almost real. The bittersweet world That I'd found her in, though, Still seems every bit familiar. Every bit known.