Red Journal

She stole it
She broke it
Just like a vase

The glass has yielded to the shade
A repetitive pattern of a melancholy present
She left my soul to devious peasants

The metal so cold
And Cylinder like
How I hate the worn stare
Of misery’s pipe

The look of an Angel
So quickly turned
I muttered “In Hell”

Before feeling the burn

We danced on charcoal
Calluses on our feet
The pain we felt was inflicted on each

Both abandoned by love
and oppressed by the fallen
We laughed as we danced
To the deadly somber forgotten

Forever to suffer
Forever scared
She stole it
She broke it
Never to be spared

She stole it
She broke it
And the demons didn’t care