Derailed

September 1, 08

Copper from the blood;
Dried into the Perfectionist true colours-
Dirty red with the silver neatly hidden
By the rust.

Roam across Her waist;
Miniature doors with no lock or key-
Always open as your welcoming bed,
Funeral sepulchre.

Little hitchhiker boy;
Take a wild leap into rushing wind-
Followed by the thunder which ends
Not soon enough.

Creepers from your mind;
Begging to the sun to unburden-
Their darkened bark and swaying sins
Beneath and above.

Dusty walking tales;
Untouched but ventured upon-
Steal the shooting star from it's tracks,
Hold your breath.

Give nothing back.


-Abstract-
Think about each description actually describing something other than what is said.
=)
The links are there...