A sod of dusty earth may be bloodied with the tears of a wilted rose,
Crimson in its decay,
And once bright in its peak of life,
Fleshy and aromatic, it is pleasurable
It is teeming with velvet wine, running through its greened veins
With this it seethes poison in each visible, aching thorn.

Lips of blushing red, caressing puckered skin,
With fists that are bawled in anger, the skin will tear and be torn
Blood will be shared, as is tradition
A lust for beauty is stalked by the resentment
Because it isn’t yours to have or own

The strong, throbbing, animalistic yearning to rip and crush
Everything that is fragile and seemingly innocent
So a blood thirsty battle of morals will be waged
And diplomacy is as mad as anarchy
Because it would be mad to shelter your bloodied rose that cuts you

A stand off,
It’s putrid, festering, vile stink of rotting skin and tainted wine,
Sickly sweet, as it fogs your mind and aches your joints
Every step on soil is a struggle of urges,
A sanguine dusk to dawn

Kill or shelter or let rot the rose
Decisions are blotted by regret and loathing
Because what love is left, if you have a choice?
A grave is inevitable and the blood shed will be yours
So grated teeth will nip your ear and whisper cheer

Enjoy your moment of sweet-smelling exultation
Stand by your word religiously
A final end to falseness and love’s conspiracy
A prideful pig you will be
A human monster.

Sanguine bastard.