October Sky

October sky, what an awful delight,
Suspicious, they might be, maybe later.

The clouds of the dying daylight,
They are slower than the wind,
They are lighter than the colour
I keep in my veins to shed later.

In every shade, they are doing,
Homicide fantasies without blood drops.

Two persons should die every day,
The sun and me, because I shed tears for them.
even I try to colour them with my few blood drops
like I used to color my skin before.