The flow of crimson perfume,
Not enough gauze can consume.
Apply pressure, sew its severed walls,
The delicacy of raw feeling is where it falls.
Awkward beauty in the let down,
Twisted in flaws.
Rebuild my chambers, lock the vault.
There is no one to blame, I'm the fool, it's my fault.
One hand covers my chest, the other held out as a lover's halt.
Do not tress pass, don't come close.
See this face, I will be your ghost.
Your lips I suffer for, I want you most.
Only return when your heart can play a lover's plea.
Your eyes are blind now, you do not yet see,
That your journey of mystery is to find the concealed key.
By Keila Marie
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