Vines dripping, hanging,
Like the lies on your lips.
Thorn pricks skin
But it’s my blood, not yours—
Always mine.
The skin falls away
To reveal open wounds.
You set your torch and burn the blood,
Laughing at your childish games.
But it’s okay because it’s my blood, not yours—
Always mine.
Fallen beneath the surface,
Too deep now to breathe.
The ice won’t crack—
Too cold, too strong—
The signature of your nature,
But you’ve never felt anything quite like this.
The blood trembles on my blade.
Rivers fall and the drops are gone
In this forever of darkness.
But it’s only my blood, never yours.
It will always be mine.
 
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