Red Red Rilvary Revenge

Dark sarcasm from another perspective

Drop the knife
My palms are wet
You want her dead
You want her dead?

My inclination
Your resolutions
Your baby's wet
Your babe is wet.

The mask grows colder
The lights now flicker
Surrender those crying spells

Now awaken from the past
What is it that you see?
Prophecies from a television screen
A hospital for you and me.

The insects in the crevices
The ghosts shouting through the walls
reminds me of my dead mother
holding her arms out to the sky high above

The mimicking of the children
The echoes of the rooms tarnished with blood
The resentments I once had for you
Have stumbled their way back into my arms.