What good does this crimson do?

When this heart lacks to feel.

What beauty does this odour fill in?

When this ticker is full of void.

The thorns now grin bigger and bigger,

Each time the eyes see them they get tingled and prickled.

Each time the void decides to load up,

The vines set already,

Pull the sinker for the world to shrink out of the bosom.

Now the ticker is set on mode fearsome,

Fear of being itchy to the muscles and bones,

Fear of entering to humanly zones,

The biggest fear to face the faces of these demonic clones.

Even if now the crimson melts down to blood,
Or hounds my void fierce,

Won't affect it any,

As it is already blocked.

Blocked by stagnant rotten emotions,

Duelling with constant betrayal rotations,

Darker than night that place has become,

Blocked by scattered pieces of trust and devotion.

Ointments can never make this nice,

And now, words won't suffice.

A broken flower is always a twig which is crushed,

For beauty it was rewarded,

And for beauty is got lost,

In sand and dust.

~Akankshya Das. 🌸

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