five
Red was not love,
red was not passion,
or dancing.
Red was the colour of his veins,
as he pulsed with rage,
the colour of his eyes,
as I knew I was done for.
I honestly loved him,
until I saw red.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro
Red was not love,
red was not passion,
or dancing.
Red was the colour of his veins,
as he pulsed with rage,
the colour of his eyes,
as I knew I was done for.
I honestly loved him,
until I saw red.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro