Would you still hold my hand?
It was clean, untouched.
Just like yours,
So warm and inviting.
I held it for the first time and…
I couldn’t let go,
My heart chained itself to yours.
It was like we were in the heavens.
My red heart sang for you, and hell,
Yours probably sang higher for me,
Practically meant to be.
But, not in the mix of the world right now.
Angels are dying.
No savior in sight,
And the people who tower,
Don’t pay the fallen with even
a bud of the flower.
The world is unfair, I can’t
let the feeble white angels suffer.
I withdraw my hand, with endless
bleeding doubt.
I do what I must,
and thrust my blade once.
Would you still hold my hand?
My hand begins to scar,
with each new grave.
Masked Angels are dying…
…This is wrong…I shouldn’t-
No, they are fake.
I can’t let pure, red love
distract my path.
And so, I mask the white dove.
My scars still so prominent,
they always were.
But you do not see them.
Never see them,
Never see my path,
You’re meant to be white.
Red isn’t your color,
Would you still hold my hand?
Red paint my hands more.
Difficult to clean now…
this is the path I chose.
Even if every whisper
frantically escaping me.
I hope you do not find out,
my once delicate hands shout,
whenever they stain your face.
When I held your face, I left
guilt…
I’m sorry…but I can’t go back.
No matter how much red
flows to my feet, I will
not stop.
Every step
every death
every sacrifice…
Until,
“Adélie?!” your voice shook me.
I faced you,
raw and unmasked.
Knife in my hand,
stained in blood.
I fall to my knees like
the rose bud.
I drowned in
my sins.
My lies.
My injustice.
How could I do
so much evil?
Yet your…love alone
is enough to
shatter my whole heart.
“Adélie…” you said gently.
I don’t meet your
pure eyes.
You walk to me.
“It’s okay to hate me.”
I cry.
You let out your
clean hand.
…
“Hold my hand.”
