Knees on floor,
The eyes watched as the
Crimson stains the white tiles.

Like the pouring rain,
from those hands it dripped.
The eyes watched still.

At the corner,
A little boy stood, surprised.
The own self of the past.

He steps in, to embrace but
He "Shoo!" him away.
How pretentious it was.

Still as water,
He flows in and
Soothes him in warmth.

"I can't breathe" he muffled.

"You'll be fine" the boy assured.

How pretentious it was.
He had seven more Demons behind him.

Poor soul in crimson.

© Sese (9:59pm/20-04-2021)