Let it lay beneath the floorboards,
Looking up at us, spying lying creatures that scratch the surface
yet they never break free; trapped in their own cacophony of angst.
He stands smiling from across the room with a crimson tie and black suit of a fabric foreign to even
Merchants selling love in a bottle to children dreaming of something more than realism.
He laughs blood dripping from his left eye because he knows wrong from right,
‘been there done that’ dribbling ‘now you do for me’ removing his hat revealing

A lovers embrace that is too late to save them from the engulfing flames
Crimson fire flittering throughout the house that Jane built, floor now broken sets them free, while locking the others forever in rapturous heat.
Market stalls closing for the day lowering prices to rock bottom, selling their stock as they cannot their souls.
Still Giggling the man in crimson sits down; lights up, deep breaths follow like those who escaped
instruments shared between them, never to be locked again.
Freedom has been granted at a price.

Here they lay beneath the floorboards,
blank eyes, broken bones, charred skin nearly forgotten.
He sits down and drinks red wine tinged with ash.
The Man in Crimson laughs.


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