Lost October

On a lost October night
Sealed hands of yours
Hold my crimson thoughts.
Shall I ask of dusk
To uncry those late scarlet regrets?
Or should I suffer sharp
Blades of purple sin?
Thee, silver wind bred
In deep autumn scents,
Bleed not from rusty leaves,
But from a putrid heart!
Pour my rising rage
Into the burning sunset!
Unchain thy ash-like rain
To put out steaming hatred!
No dew of hope remains,
I have just lost October.