can you see the person crimson behind, Bloody words?
can you truly see who I am?
I think not, If you truly saw through this crimson mask,
You'd unravel, things horrifying, the list exponetially vast,
My words I pen, upon this page,
Contain my crimson, my beauteous rage,
My paper dripping blood,
For my soul is what I put in,
This pen and paper,
an extension,
of me...myself Crimson.
My words contain every sarrow ever written,
Every untouched and unworthy love,
every lust and hell bound hug,
Every fatal kiss, and every touch of death,
These few things make up the words of Crimson,
these very few things make up everything I know,
These very few words, make up what I am to be,
A lover of death, is what Crimson means to me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Now I know the Crimson behind those words.. A truthful Crimson true to its color... writes with great emotions poured in every word.. convincing...