Crimson Regrets

Wherever there is people, there is blood. Wherever there is blood, there is war.

A drop of crimson regret,
A liquid chrysillis of life, death and everything in between
Escaping its usual confines
Taking away the gossamer purposes with it
In the selfish manner only life can teach
As it begins its painless descent from my wrist
That which shall ever bear testimony to the heartache;
The pale canvas
Upon which the evidence
Of that familiar cool chrome sharpness has been etched
Proof of the ever bitter romantic companionship
Between self preservation
And Self destruction
And i comprehend
Blood is war.