Lorenzo

All poems copyright, Lorenzo

The Coming Of The Red

Slowly, a splash of red
against virgin ivory white.
The ultimate contrast in passions..
lust and fury and anger
against innocence and purity and peace.
Yet,
it is the coming of the red that
brings quiet
A stinging calmness..
A wicked serenity..
an artificial vulnerability

Hypnotized, I watch it..
So still, yet somehow it grows
Pooling up in a perfect,
militant line
So strict and precise.
it marches over the plains of my soul
Imposing its absolute rule.
It both saves me and destroys me
as it governs my being.
I crave its presence more then breath

Finally,
Its demons press their oppressing hands
upon my fragile shoulder.
I offer little resistance..
A gleam of light..
The metal pierces the soft,
unimposing flesh beneath it.

I sit silent now,
As I await.
The coming of the red

Soundly Drips of Red

The background music I choose for my painful decent
Soothes my growing hate for myself as I let it drip away
As I loose my reflection in the wicked steel
My past becomes ever so slowly unsettled
Ashamed of what I have become
My hidden secrets become my reality
Paranoia clings to my shoulders
Every smile hides a bold faced lie
Exhilarated by every encounter
1,2,3… breath… 4,5,6… breath…
sometimes the numbers become lost
your weak, pathetic, take it all in
I feed off its nurturing wound
I’m lost in the coming of the red
I cant breath! Let me out!
Go away! Stay the fuck away!
I hate, I hate, I…
1,2,3… breath… 1,2,3… breath
every encounter brings serenity
once again I feel stable
my mind is healed once again
yet my body has suffered the consequences
the scars will never truly heal
they’ll stay their as a constant reminder of the undying drip

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