Red floors, red skies.

Red carpet around where the body lies.

I'm doomed, I'm fine.

Killing someone isn't such a crime.

Never mind.

What a lie.

Like a fly on a web.

Worm crossing where people step.

I doomed myself, I didn't prep.

Like a buffoon, I only leapt.

Get ready, stay steady.

Already hid the machete.

Cleaned it from crimson.

But I can't clean myself,

not from a crime that's so petty.

They'll come I'll cry.

They'll ask, I'll reply.

I'll pray they don't know I lied.

Then, they'll say goodbye.

And afterwards I'll leave for the night.

One day, two.

Third day, four.

Fifth day, six.

Can't bear it anymore.

Just thinking of the gore.

It hurts my brain.

I can't think much more.

All the red.

Streaks of red!

All because the things he said.

Funeral planned.

Emotions canned.

Out of this red sea, I hope I find land.

It's suffocating.

Yet, I'll stay alive.

I'll do what he can't.

I'll live and I'll thrive.

Red hands, red rose.

Lie it down, hope no one knows.

Cry now, act then.

Will they find out?

If so, when?

End scene, and think.

I think I'm on the brink.

They won't know, I hid it well!

When I die, I'll go to hell...

Books I've read.

Books of red.

It'll follow me, no matter where I head.

Oh my, how he bled.

It's ingrained in my thoughts.

I wish I'd just fled.