Poetic Paradox.

Bullets of sounds shooting off her burning tongue,

exploding fragments of understanding anger,

riddled with regrets,

denting the inner opposition it's aimed towards,

and battlefield cries heard beyond the screams,

raining down darkening embers,

melting away the make-up off her shameless face.

And the remnants of last night's thoughts,

just like autumn leaves,

are dried and gone,

but forever innerly stained.



~CH~