Loving him is indeed red,
One stray bullet
straight to the head,
One life walking
in hell's wire while
hanging by heaven's thread.
Loving him till brain dead,
when there's everlasting
existential dread
and last tear falling
in the streaming riverbed.
Loving him makes me
a scapegoat--a thoroughbred!
His sinful side never swallows
what I've scavenger-fed.
Loving him is daily bread--
No more silver and lead.
Vermilion velvets of him are bled,
He vomits me
in foreshadowing
déjà vu instead.
In be and end all, we have fled;
In eventual backwardness, we will be ahead.