From farthest corner iris of his eye
Was caught a glimpse of tarnished crimson stain.
A berry red grotesqu’ry of one maimed,
Malignant pigment dye of one who died.
Lady who dressed in burgundy velour
Departed ‘fore stiletto hit the floor.
A masquerade of bloody haut-lacquer,
A foreign siege by violent connoisseur.
Sir Criminal knew not of precious spark
That dwelled within his lovely luscious mark;
It slept in silence, dormant, lost in dream
While Lady bled in tear-stained reverie.
The bullet in her breast danced full in bloom
As limb-by-limb the womb becomes fleshed tomb.
“Two lives,” roared Zeus, “cannot this world entwine!
Each human life is bound for sure decline.”
Yet twisted fate lets one alone survive.
Birthing hips now conquered by new life.
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