The world revolves too fast for me to catch up,
Gossips, insults, threats and revenge;
The colour of blood are somewhat like ketchup,
All from the person I had avenged.
The knife glistening under the caressing moonlight,
Being held with such a psychotic tendency;
Just looking at a bleeding, gruesome sight,
Would leave my own heart to flutter in ecstasy.
Stored away elsewhere, forgotten and abandoned,
Some of my precious work and life;
All of which, would one day be armageddon,
If I don’t burn and make it thrive.
Now, I leave you, staring and confounded,
By the text I have written;
I once knew how it all sounded,
Right after it had been wrapped in linen.