Love poetry, a horror story

I know, just as natural as John Barleycorn’s field

My heart will be broke open, misconstrued,

My words used in harm, by the creepy minds

That bloody the cornfield horror story around me

But from me, I tell thee, I’ll not poison the blade

From me, I’ll give thee light, and my light mingles,

Your beauty with their blood, but to you, the cycle,

My light’s sprout, give my soul, my verse become a bloody rose