Blood-warm, paradise-blue,
this life — this perfect paradox,
you wanted it, so madly.
All these wild winds,
these wounded beasts,
this illicit love — burnt.
Your pupil was immense,
your voice sang. A stone
cried under your skin.
The sky was pink, then
black, when the fight began.
In the air, bitter sweet,
rolled a kind of tune.
Misled, cheated, Love,
firm as a rock, tried.
Defeated, broken,
Joy tried. Hope tried.
The pain never tired.
Neither the want, the want,
scorching your skin.
Lying in the wet grass,
your chest open wide,
you watched the sun
setting, ruby, and the
stone, inside, glowing.
In the air, carefree,
the tune went on —
The law of the fight is simple,
On your own soul you rip.

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