The Mist

I lay the bloodstained roses on your bed

As my soul shrivels up like a leaf.

The mirrors are grinning with teeth made of lead,

They are begging me to leave.

White mist sneaks around the freezing room,

Trying hard to steal my breath.

My fingers are dripping blood on the floor

As the thorns show no regret.

I draw a scarlet circle on the wall,

Then another one on my forehead.

The air smells of iron and early fall,

And everything feels so foreign.

I pick up the stained roses from your bed

As my heart ceases to exist.

The sky is laughing and crying red,

And I finally breathe in the mist.

-JW