She's waiting on his outside for love no longer shown, she's knocking on his heart hoping she can call it home, she stood in his eyes, but to his heart, unknown, waiting with a throbbing bosom, hurting and alone.
Open up her beaten chest, what's not defined by brutality? Break the broken into crumbs to mitigate reality.Nothing is ever clear once depression hits the brain, life sucked and breathing hurt so she grabbed it by the vein.
Losing blood, wasting fast, fading, disappearing... punched by his fist in her heart, lucid and uncaring.
Her face towards a crying sky, colliding with the rain, washes tears off her cheeks and sleeves of crimson stain.
Dark and blight, pouring down, crying with the child, the clouds are hurt just like her, bleeding fast and wild.
She can live without a heartbeat now, she screams with silent sound, maybe he'll see her broken heart in pools upon the ground.
With stained heels from crimson puddles, he'll know what he left behind... a girl who truly loved him even when his sight went blind, a girl who truly loved and meant every word she said, a girl whose heart he broke and left, waiting, knocking, dead...
But if by chance, she falls in between, she'll be his closet fear, and if by nature, what has been forgotten, he'll feel her crimson tears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.