Black Red

O’ where is that dagger!

So that I might stab away this grief

Let it bleed out, red sweet red.

Y’know, at night beneath the moon,

Blood looks black?

Maybe, if I slice through this meaningless flesh

I might find my blackened soul staring back.

I’ll save a slice of Hell for you, if you’d like

Wouldn’t take much effort, only a limb of mine.

You could keep it with you, at all times!

A memory, a gift even, of love ever lasting.

Rotted flesh, what a lovely parting gift indeed!

Putrid is this soul, anyway.

Let me bleed onto the floor

A pool of redness full of pain.

Anguish is mine name

I whisper to the winds.

Echo the future into the past

As each tick of that master clock

Winds down slowly until I wither

Slowly, away.

(c) 2002 A Riddle