Whats the point of being able to love so damn 

well if its a colorless sketch? 



This must be a mere tracing of a heart colored lead,

There is no scarlet red!

This passion is a curse too...

a fire that burns me...

Burns. Burns me, but this fIre attracts you.

 

Its been in solitary confinement, and its 

been do long that when the sun hits it, it will feel new, 

like the h-bomb before its suicidal release, 

climactically shout, willing in its final adieu.



And yet it refuses to love.

 Refuses to accept those who show interest 

in it..a hostage situation?.....stubbornly waiting for 'the right ones'.  

Waiting for one who can give in to its demands.  

Selfish heart..

Every spark ignited my skin stuns.  

Starting fires in my mind.. 

Cruel arsonist. 

The warden is sleeping... The guards are nowhere to be found. 

This arsonist walks freely around the 

prison defacing it whenever it pleases.. 

Leaving the other inmates confused, spellbound.  

And im choking on the fumes from his 

blaze. Slowly i, suffocate on my own lonliness... 

Cancerous.. Spreading tumors of 

description...making my everyday a daze. 

 Someone says this is a sad fate? They joke, ormiunderstand...

It was incredible beauty that sprung this arsonist... That set my mind ablaze.  

-with love