Paragraphs bleed onto a page

Like a stone, covered in blood.

Many believed the parable

But it stuck to them like mud.

Rage cured what it could

But it didn’t solve the crime.

Battles happen every day

Even in a rhyme.

A bird gently perches on a branch

Asks for nothing, but sky.

We all gained the reputation of sinners

Yet none of us ask why.

She was a blank canvas of beauty

Strangers left their mark.

She grew dim without light to feed her

The outlook, quite stark.

Sharing the stones she carried

Failed to find her muse.

A spark met an ignitor once

She lit the fuse.

When her breath sounds delightful

Yet all her friends have cringed.

Don’t worry, she’ll go back to who  she was..

She’s just a little unhinged.

 

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