Scarlet

A self-editing mechanism, mutually shredding a guitar

The blues of it, the itch, the ache in running sandpaper through infant skin

The different ways I come back to you, the same way you receive me

Too many humans, their vagueness a stream you drink from, time and again

The embezzler in you they think is rogue; you qualify as honest

What is dishonesty but honesty to few?

What is honesty but diplomacy to the masses?

I changed the day you looked at me odd when I picked the cherry with the longest stem

You thought it was a no-brainer I did so for the knot, just a tease, but I didn’t

At the time, the only thing with a knot was my tongue, yet, I wasn’t tongue-tied

Let me walk you through the irony of it…see…the deeper the roots of the stem, the kinder the juice to spill when you pull it out

‘cherries belong to the rose family’

The big five

The most economic, yet the deadliest

If you can’t kill the culprit, at least get your hands on his partner in crime

The brighter scarlet, the sour in tasteless sweet

An old encyclopedia you just dusted off, and put back on the shelf

After all, wasn’t there a dead rose in it? Ah, but its fragrance remains…

 

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Subtle

The smoothest crimes, are perfected subtly
Less asphyxiated, too little to be this much
Punctuation marks, shouldn’t be judged
Slamming doors shut, shunning the ambient
A hollow sand dune you dip your head in
And walk in, with your hands
I mean,
To be quite honest
Sometimes I walk for miles and still wonder where everyone’s at
And other times, I look straight at you, without moving, and crumble
Fear of abandonment; and all you did was abandon
Attachment disorder; and all you did was pull and cut
Hold and slaughter
The wire that wasn’t meant to be touched
Or so it said
On the last note you left
After all,
Smooth crimes are subtle

The man in the sky

Your shape becomes transparent

Hands that spoke for you,

Now linger in this demise

Leave no clue, maybe tomorrow

Hope is one filthy bastard, isn’t it?

Maybe the day after, maybe never

You are bartered, material for sentiment

Word for word. You are not ready

My trademark is the wind. What’s yours?

Kind of like, a crying violin

The man in the sky takes credit for

Borrowings, these. Carefully spilling unto your sponge-like swaying

You whom I let escape

Your cloak

Hula hoops around your knees, a recap

You listen, just to relate

Whisper; just to misinterpret

The curtain closes on your big act

You taught me wrong

It’s not safe here, neither is it outside

People have always been afraid of what they don’t understand

 

You whom I let escape,

Roll these stones with you, give them pace

 

The child within, running away from you

A facade of neon lights gone unnoticed

As the alienated flee; a thousand follow

They worry, their hands turn to dust