Empty Streets

When the midnight opens like a preamble and clock highlights three, words take the shape of water and keep raining from unveiled vessel. That's when sorrow finds a home in breathing corpses, and wounds cut themselves open in dark vicinities and free verses. In the darkness that follows at this hour pain howls and hurt screams through a soul that reeks of arsenal blood and unheard voice. A scene she tries to put in oblivion, a sin she fears to paint in vermilion, When she walked on empty streets alone trying to liberate her wounds from the hands of salt, but soon she was caught by an assault.