Frolicking through gore,
While bleed turns to pour.
Hoping there’s something more,
You bear it right to your core.
Daring you enter through the door,
Staring to figure what you came for.
Tearing is what makes you score,
Blaring insides will take you ashore.
Glances, numerous you’ll store,
Whispers, spurious just ignore.
Splinters, with oil, will surely floor,
Tricksters, fade, with time, poorly wore.
Trajectory favors worn out decor,
Contradictory, yet prevails the sore.
Rudimentary, yet withstanding for more,
Multi-sensory, will not hide anymore.