Bloodshot

Governments in the twilight of their reign.
The stench of corruption
Assailed by profanities and cat calls
From other prisoners as we walk
Down the prison corridors
And slowly we begin to wipe the blood off the walls
A precipice, an abyss,
Sky – diluted blood – red orange – surrenders to the gloom

Madeover Flat (Apartment?) Lounge

Miss Crimson