Sound of death as it kisses mother and child,
the pitter patter of the heels against the concrete
a women dressed in crimson
as she runs from all the devils behind her
the melancholy silence of a regretfully gun shot
the holes punched into the dry wall
all seems to mix into the primodial ooze
splurging and splashing on the depths of my mind
soaking in the shades of regal purple
as it devours her
inching slowly to her heart
an exhale
and inhale
a moment of pain
nothing seeps through her lips once flowing with words
the paleness seems to leave the face
and the mask dripps off
as the peach colour of skin is renewed again
the screaming of the worthless child
as father beats mother and daughter
the goddess cry upon the polluted house
where tears take flame
and burn all her hidden writing
as a flower tower
hoping to escort her soul to the other plane.
