Crimson crystal. . .

Senses, shattered
like the ripples of the moonlight
on a violent river
Senseless, I remain on this cold night.


Beyond reason
we broke into crystals
scattered but alive
It is not love, its a change of season.

Everything tainted
reflecting crimson
not from hearts pure
Bleeding , the brushes of our soul painted

Losing the luxury
of chasing each others shadows
we turn a deeper shade of crimson
Existing, only in my endless reverie. . .