iOTA » Outside

Painting my roses red
Remember all the
Bloody things they said
Wiping my hands
That bleed
Bleeding into the dirt
That groans under me
Constantly my dirty friend
Help me roll over again
There's a fence by the road
I should climb
It was there
That my palette
And I would wait
For our paintings
To flower and stitch up
The canvas on our return
Elbow on a broken seed
Opening an angry mouth
That bleeds
Times when the grounds
Crawling like mice
Are birds and like birds
Are men and me eyes
On either side
Of my head so never
Either eye shall meet
Firey come, firey go
Burning you memory on me
There