Crimson Petals

Crimson petals forced to fall
Torn, rather, to their death
No longer could the water nurse
Or cradle them with breath

(When will the torment end?...)

A chortle is coherent now
As blood begins to drain
For Separation cannot help
But laugh at so much pain

(...Perhaps she'll soon let alone)

Each petal is potential joy
A memory of the soul
That's never granted time to form;
She rips it from the whole

(Cannot our thorns retaliate?...)

Her fingers stained with hindered love
As dry emerald eyes burn
She can't perceive how, through the woe
Its love proceeds to churn

(...Then the blood would be her own)

Why (We)
won't (will)
it (not)
die? (die.)