Red Is Dead

Red is not for love, it’s dead.
The awfulness is such a dread.
Blood, the darkest form of red.
It makes me feel oh so dead.
Life gets sucked from within me
Death is thrown deep into me.
I glance down at the floor I stand.
A puddle of blood, not just a strand.
Puddle, bowl, ocean, sea…
Full of blood from you and me.
Myself, I do not wish to torment,
By watching this blood drop to the cement.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

Poem

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Pitts Avatar
June 8, 2010 at 9:15 PM
this brought a legit tear to my eye..Beautiful poem... love trevor
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