Crimson Flood

The blade calls to me

bekoning to a torn soal.

Will its call ever be answered,

will i ever light that coal?

The flame of the blade burns in my heart

needing constant fuel to stay lit.

Will i continue to feed that flame,

will i give just a little bit?

Oh how i long for that firy feel

to watch that crimson flood.

To drown the sorrow

to cut away the shame.

So with the flow of blood

I no longer hear the call.

The flame rekindaled

as the crimson begins to fall.

The lusting call answered

with such a price to pay.

The life of an inosent

so lonly and ashamed.