Bitchy & Witchy

Perhaps blood is merely ink,

ruby and careful.

Perhaps scars are telling stories

of a child of many wars.

Perhaps pain is hidden beauty;

a devastating truth.

Perhaps hearts are made for breaking,

if only to heal the wounds.

Perhaps words were born of storms,

lost to the cold, dark blue;

perhaps they found each other there,

Deep in the lonely hour;

too early, too late.

Tending a golden flower,

twisting the arm of fate.

A knock at the door of losing it all,

I see a familiar face;

Beware the wanting to answer the call,

for her thorns are caged in lace.

That lover of mine, lending infinite time

to a heart too broken to break.

Giving up, giving in, and life will begin