The Breach

Breach

Water mixed with Wine –to cheapen the taste.

Sorrow mixed with Joy –to depose pure bliss.

A piercing bitter taste is left in my mouth;

I have no affinity for things of the past,

Nostalgia does not suit me

And yet the crimson in everything reminds me of bygone days

It calls my name

--beckoning me to the joy of ecstasy--

--pointing back to the days of opaque dreams, when happiness was promised to never cease--

Then,

Oaths were for forgotten

Glasses were broken

Whites were bloodied and stained.

The fragile gate to happiness was shattered.

Strangers breached and changed the meaning of

Joy

Bliss

And Dreams

They R

A

N

away with mirth –ever so quickly– and replaced it with an indescribable sense of melancholy.

We no longer know what happy really means or

What CRIMSON verily looks like.