Support

With tremendous pain

And unwavering scars,

I live in heaven…

The rotting wound in the heart cries

For a wavering touch of my soul.

Dried-out eyes don’t spit blood for me.

The exquisite pain in my brain,

Looking through the prism of odds.

None of them support me.

My vein pumps green with envy.

For a silly Viola flower?

(Why am I contradicting myself?)

Let my last drop of blood merge into the sea.

Before that

Want to spill the beans,

I want her to be happy, period.

You have my 'support' until my last trick.