Flowers in
the fort of faith withered
Reeking of
a renegade’s resistance.
And slimy sweat
of a traitor of trust.
It rained
blood that night
Soaking
everyone in a sadness of shame
And as the
sky turned crimson the next morning
All that
everyone did was collect blood crumbs
Thinking
of the days gone by
And trying
with all their might
Not to
think of the days to come.
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