Blood red pomegranates outside my door,

Evil lurks, darkness roars.

Pods of despair, crimson beads,

Poisonous channels, acid bleeds.

Beautifully rotten, fruits of malice,

Glistens dangerously, like the jewel of a palace.

I step outside and pluck one berry,

It's unusually soft, looks as red as a cherry.

Mellifluous tunes enter my ears,

I procure a knife, like a puppeteer.

A thud is heard, and then silence reigns,

My breathing labors, but I do not complain.

Scarlet droplets, cerise streams,

Stain my floor, like a bleak dream.

My eyes then close, no sign of life remains,

Just a pomegranate lies, near a blood-filled drain.