A past but yet a present
What should I call it ?
A soft touch of torture
A kiss on a dead forehead
That tries to warm its coldness
I was there in that murder scene
To see a rose being killed
He whispered to it;
"Our love will be immortalized"
And then, he cut it into pieces
All the red pieces flew , and disappeared
No prove that they lived here before
Red for blood, or is it for love?
I had no idea
But I saw him running
His hands were full of red stuff
He rushed towards a door
Each door leads to another
Each door leads to the same murder
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