Pressure

The wind’s pressure slightly tilts a branch down
Sweet happiness frowns upon the spots and spills
When you’ve had your fill of my over requited love
You disappear like drying dewdrops on a windowsill
Selecting and infecting the ignorant tree
To remain immune, immortal within
Apt to bend, slightly break, but never concede
To that perpetrating, familiar, unrelenting wind
That reminds you of me
Storm raging wildly, refusing to pass quickly
Breaking the fragile, delicate, brilliant glass
Pieces will shatter and cut our flesh slowly
And hint of the end if we follow this path
With blood stained, injured, damaged hands
Do you cry wounded with pain
Or do you find me waiting in crimson hope
And go back to where love began