Mercy be,
Blood upon my hands,
My broken heart,
may never be healed,
sharp edges of my pain,
cut away at my flesh,
as my tears wash away the hurt.
Watch the darkness creep in,
countless blades,
in the bloody puddles around my feet,
the kiss of death upon my cheek,
Trail your fingers across my skin,
It burns like I am too close to the sun.
My heart is cold,
So slow it beats,
Quicken the pace,
Melt the ice,
Take away my pain,
But On this night,
I'll cry out your name,
because our love is worth the fight.
This is a fresh blooming poem, written so nicely. To this poem, I am the 19th visitor, 1st reader, 1st voter, and the 1st to comment. When everything comes 1st and best, why should I go for the 2nd best?