My heart has bled--the stitches popped

with blood running through

the crevice of my torn soul.

The curtains closed,

and the world vanished,

as shadows loomed against the walls

like misery branded on one's flesh.

But when my seductress calls,

we dance in sultry merriment

as I lifelessly fall

into the arms of Evil.

Death is my lure, my intimate.

She has tinctured my psyche

with gradations of red

and stirred me to flames

as my temperature turned hot.

But now the hues

have turned black,

as the flames of seduction

burn from  innermost Hell.

Desolation, it is washing me away--

its current ripping me

to the depths of grief

I can no longer bear.

And I wonder,

Will ever I survive?

Or will I wash ashore

without strength,

without life to carry on?