Tainted lies on Juliet’s balcony
of lover’s sweet heart melody.
Regret the blade that slice,
poor Juliet’s throat thrice.
Blood spills—thirst of the crude urge,
resist not of this indulge.
Murdered in Juliet’s shadow
love buries six feet below.
Want to still feel you around,
he said, poor Romeo—crimson sword
grips in his iced hands. He lies.
Dancing in his poetic words she dies.
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