coldbroken

My death stained hands pierce the bruised skies. I surge forward and clamp you in my vice, You squirm and spit, biting down hard. The crimson river rains down, I bleed out my flood. Still you rage and vomit out your disgust, The vice tightens, squeezing out the life. Your face fades to white, The paper face of death, Ice cold lips. I through you away. Your rag body ricochets on the ground, Exploding into a spider of crimson. My flood bleeds on, The crimson unites, soaks away Through the very fabric. All is pure now. There is only but the sterile white glow, The sheen of beauty. Your scab of impurity has been peeled aw