Pretty crimson blossoms from dazzling gold,
Its vibrancy seeps into every crevice, Flows, then stains the ground so effortlessly,
As if that’s what it was made to do.

And the crystalline tears stream down once more,
Cloudy eyes no longer reflect the pristine light,

An ending to tender touch, warmth turned cold,
Mournfully ripping every ounce of vitality away,

Death has never looked so beautiful.

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