Drowning in Acrid Light

Arms bound to a willow Waiting for the dagger's blow Pale skin bathed in sunlight Steel reflecting the daylight's glow Oh the tragedy of youth - Shall you extinguish such beauty? A glimmer of doubt Is all you have left Gaze upon the dagger, Still pushing you forward Drowning in acrid light Tipping scales which lack center Palms slashed, dripping in expiration Their fallow soaked within their blight Merging, into space without center Collapsing over unrealized yearnings Murdered, still clutching the dagger Deciphering images upon his dying flesh "One is fruitful only at the cost of being rich in contradictions. One remains young only on condition that the soul does not relax, does not long for peace." Flowers blooming, from soft white flesh O the frailty of youth, poured upon the cold ground Exquisite white cloth dyed red, with the immaculate blood of youth.