The heat creeps into the house.

The red sun rises high.

She’s not ready.


You can feel his breath on her shoulder,

the grip on her neck.

A summer swelter,

an ugly lover’s nest.


Does she cry herself asleep,

amidst those soft screams?

She’s not ready.


So tender are those eyes

that turn red at night.

So thick is the blood

that pours out.

Soaking the lies,

removing the doubt.


That bitter emotion.

A fear that can’t leave

in a tide of sorrow,

drowning in a pitiful sea.


Don’t let optimism fool you again.

If you stay, it will be the end.


He has nothing for you but fury and anger,

a powerful lust that has no love.


She’s not ready.


Will you ever?

Or will you remain

that transparent soul,

broken and cold.


This heart already knows.

You have to go.


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