Tears of Blood Red

Tear
Red line drawn
Shaking, tremble
Passion
Sorrow

Paine
Crimson
Reduction Pulsing
Memories hurt
These tears are red

Silent breathing
Stickiness
Scarlet syrup
Sharp blade tight
Sadness overwhelmed

The face distraught
Distorts
A lonely night
In abject fear
Alone

The waves burdening
Sinking
I’m tired
Weary
Frustrated

I don’t know any other way
These tears flow steadily
The world is full of strangers
& the brain is a failure
Starved of success

Meaning devoid
These droplets of rich red blood
Trickle on white skin in contrast
Life is ebbing
Fading

The roses you took
& faces which steal
Achievements empty
change too difficult.
Eyes close & I’m drifting

~ full of rage & full of pain. A horrible night.
© ed simkins

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The day I took a life.

The needle bleeds.

Pulsing arm reacts and screams.

I feel its numbness. A warm honey fills my mind.

The visions roll.

I see the end of life. Rejoice.

Slowth of thought. I smile at the initial memory of that night.

The golden tube. A tunnel formed of love.

Like sex which smiled, though substance danced.

I pricked myself. Though perhaps she’d stabbed my arm.

I cared no more. My slumber undermined her hot advance.

I slid towards the floor. My brain pulsated, a steady rhythmic drum within the party of my mind.

I could not dance. Nor stand erect as she applied herself to sensual play.

I laughed at her, though my lips curtailed themselves in still & forlorn sensation.

I stared at it. The needle which plagued my arm with pain. Or pleasure. Or maybe post-dramatic penalties of play.

I laughed again – within my skull – at the jest & wit of which I wrote.

The night passed by.

By early morning I had woke.

& dreams of sexual violence & naked ambition with the neighbour’s daughter had turned to peace.

I arose with eyes of sunken solitude. & smiled a weary sigh.

The girl beside me was alone & naked, her perfect body dead.

I kissed her lips & combed her hair, admired her slender form.

I withdrew the needle & wiped off blood, I placed within her hand.

& stumbled home my friends too quick, with secret never told.

That girl had died, my spirit too & thoughts were never shared.

& so tonight I tell the world, my lust for her had killed.

A dedication spent that night, high & sold to hell,

But silent death was her’s instead & never did she tell.

~ a night of needles & strange intoxication. Or was it just giving blood?

© ed simkins

My Peaceful Bride

Girl in the white dress dead.
Silver knife.
Red wrists.
Frustration made of simple mistake.

Her wedding gown.
Lace & long & oh so beautiful.
Her pale skin.
Perfect sleep.

A single tear as silence held.
Music plays, piano keys.
Disaster through song’s repeat.

Her cherry lips
Expensive prostitution.
Suicide?
Or murdered love?

Upon this chair the white man sees.
Looks over body.
Sensual lust? Or ego bruised?

Her pretty face. How young was she?
I held her hand, & now the knife.
Scarlet stains, sticky fingers lost in blood.
Who ended the dream she shared?

A final thought. Her pretty body.
Which cut came first?
Her failed desire or my expectation?
Lover lost, angel died. Solemn grief in human lust.

~ I play a song, the cave is dark, I see this scene within my mind.  Maybe it’s just how all things end.

© Ed Simkins