Sunsets, her favorite.
Tips of her lips defying gravity.
Her slightly crooked smile, with lips parted.
Magical

Her hair is fiery red with tips of orange and pink.
Just like the sunsets
How? Must be magic, the way she bewitches me.
Burning, intoxicating, just like the shine she makes.
Strong, beautiful, amazing, above all just WoW!
The darkness you wouldn’t even guess she has.
The way the thunder rolls across her name,
Beauty in the pain she feels.

Bubbles float from her giggles and personality.
A true sweetheart, golden heart, the little ones follow her.

Used, teary eyed, ear piercing screams, and thoughts of “HOW COULD YOU!!!!!!!”
Her mask of bubbles, and sunsets has turned sour.
Lighting flies from her mouth.
Who is this monster?
Is it me?
Why can’t I stop, PLEASE!!!

Staring in the mirror back at me wasn’t Fairs, sunsets, snowflakes, or bubbles.
No bubbles, just broken glass and screams.
Pooling of crimson, salt, and acid.

Who is this?

Not the Sunset, not anymore.

Whirling tides of tsunamis, earthquakes, eruptions.
Pure magic of chaos, a queen of heartbreak.

Even sunsets can be cruel, and unforgiving.

There's nothing funny
and it doesn't tickle
nor is there any gold to be spun

the sensation's rough
filled with pain tears
and very little mirth

but that is best understood
coming from your mouth
directly into a silver microphone

wood used as a dye
berries very nutritious            
calafate berries

Would the answers be fulfilling
to the questions of the feeling?
Will it stay a while, or just come & go,
for i’m never truly alone, but will i ever know?
Suppose it’s not for me, i don’t actually exist;
a piece of a story, a drop in the mist.
If there isn’t a beginning and isn’t an end,
what could be worth a feeling on an endless bend?
Could a picture be created with just one color?
If not for the dark and the light, what wouldn’t be similar?
Suppose sad is necessary, not scary,
and to fuse this with happiness all will marry.
If all is to come must equal what goes,
who is “I” to question the ways of the flows?
For the rain may come and a tree may fall,
the rivers could flood and the sprouts could stall,
as a speckle of time it comes as unjust,
but as one with the light, dark, and dust we must trust.