We grew close
Like a moth to a roaring fire
I clutched a rose though I knew well
of the thorns it bore
Yet you surprised me
Oh dear! look at what I've done
I said rubbing my tear soaked hands
My burnt flesh in scars
And away went the moth to seek kindness
Elsewhere
Fist love,
and it wasn't infatuation.
For that age I could not tell though,
it felt true, like deep admiration.
The end was upon us
and I cursed the Gods,
I wept my wells dry
sewed presents against odds.
With each stitch, it grew dark
and I pressed on,
I hoped you'd remember
after WE were gone.
We split apart
how unthinking was I,
I didn't water it
and I watched it die.
Now you hate me.
I think I hate you?
I shook my fist at the Gods
and at the mirror
yet the fault is mine,
Should I have been on a path not chosen?
Would you have stayed if I had spoken?
Should I have said words when the light
faded?
