My body quivers
against the winter
sky as you stab
and the steam flows.

Blood like crimson
smears all around
the frozen world.

The smoke awakens
the ancient feeling
of self defeat against
the champions.

You tell me that
it isn't personal,
but a cause of
wrong time or maybe
business.

So I cry with soft
tears that don't
feel so comfortable
in this sorted weather.

And you hold nothing,
and hold back.
So we explode and the
hatred and love
flows.

My blood flows.

12/24/2009

Posted on 12/24/2009
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin