You tore the petals off of flowers, 

shattered mirrors, 

and shot words like arrows into the air.

They lingered for a moment,

before breaking through fragile armor.

You are the sweet-smelling rain on a breeze

in the distance, that turned into a storm,

knocking down trees in a path of destruction.

You tried to be spring and mend the broken

and bring it back to life,

but you are a bitter winter, breathing an icy

death on what is living.

You pray for warmth, but your clouds have

pushed the sun’s rays away.

Now you’re a cemetery.

Your only friends are memories.

You sit there alone,

cursing the pain of your merciless mistakes,

that cut through you with your own

crimson covered sword.