Bleeding Picture Poem by Francie Lynch

My eyes saw you hide behind a flower,
Reproved between the blades;
Wizened and withered by your touch,
Your dream has surely failed.

You strutted on a high wire,
A dot on either side;
Your pirouette on the stairs,
Was a step with every lie.

Self-fashioned on a bleeding picture,
You knew the world was stained;
Your sweat proclaimed with licks,
And a self-sustaining brain.

Who could answer all the calls
Those infernal internal rings;
The boy outside was looking,
Planning heinous sins.

You stropped a spoon with her eyes,
But who was really blind;
She treaded in a sea of blood,
You spooned her brain and mind.

Play your guitar in blissful darkness,
In a single-lighted room;
Your poems have finally flickered,
With that action all too soon.

I see petals hoover yet,
Indifferent, no appeal;
My fingers curl when I touch
A thing you'll never feel.