On Crimson Petals

on crimson drenched petals and scarlet folds dew like tears, like blood clings to the delicate flower withering in the breeze like tears, like blood falling, dripping from eyes wounded at having seen too much from a mind numbed into a solitary prison as such like blood, like tears flowing freely with nothing to hide except the ache that lies coiled up tight inside tears and blood drowning the soul in a torrential flood of pain, of torn thoughts, of wasted moments entire like tears, like blood drowning, smothering the will and quelling all desire like bloodied tears trickling down clipping at the being with emotion-less shears consuming the soul with countless fears of today, and tomorrow, and the passing of the years as the dew clings to the delicate petals, and intricate folds of the crimson flower drenched in scarlet, bloodied tears knowing not what the future holds...