The dull drip, drip, drip of thick, blackened blood pours
into the veins that beat a path to my heart,
with each feeble pulse, bit by bit, ripped apart
by a dark beast inside, which rages and roars.
I know from my past of lost romance and wars,
revenge has no method, it’s more of an art
that hijacks our acts till this life we depart,
or till at long last we have settled our scores.
Spellbound by payback, I choke on my bile,
and barely pay heed to the pathway ahead;
with the past on my back, each inch is a mile,
and the blue in the sky's a bright, burning red;
then one beautiful day I wake up and smile,
forgetting the reason for losing my head.
Copyright © Henrique Oliveira | Year Posted 2018
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