There is a burgundy sky, an open vein, that splits with a bolt of frustration and fire. There below, the rapids crash, the currents collide, and lifeless bodies pile onto the banks, nameless, frozen. Their quiet demise brings remorse to none. With leaden faces, and bluing lips, their eyes reek fumes that form dancing tales of oblivion into the minds of those who witness. Obsidian pupils leak aversion, and death sparks an unnatural hope in dismal cobalt irises.
Waters surge from Thine eyes as your child excels its creator. Your disguised disgust for your conception is unveiled in the presence of ecstasy. The wrath of your child rises in blue red and purple, a passionate flame, flooded with the stench of your loathing, deceit, and material lust. View Thy soul now, as stripped by your child, and recall the verses that spat off your forked tongue.
Ashes form around Thine eyes, Lashes singed with acidic tears of remembrance. A lethal thought, regret, and to your acclaimed rekindled soul, no barriers reside in your ribs to shield the weak. Test Thy tear to your lips, recover the salt and rub it in the wounds created by Thy hand alone.
Mirror, mirror, oh, thine eyes, chest open to the storm...