This time around,
Words bled.
Same as before,
They twirl around her face,
The perfect face
Of deceit.
An ornament in red,
Against pale skin.
Like the raging fire ,
That engulfs in her,
All that remains uncharred.
How is it that words,
So cunning, yet sweet,
Imply such desires,
Making her see
Red all over again.
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