I will drag your predation  to mine
to mix it and prepare it as a perfect wine.
I will not leave your line
until I make sure that our gloom is fine.
trust this dust-path and this shrine
of our love that will always mar the sunshine.

Your poetry is a story,
the story of your life
Drowned in flowery, rosy words
carved from heart by knife
And as your words
grow and grow,
thoughts tangled up in vines,
I begin to see you clearer, dear,
beyond those clever rhymes
Because what those flowery words conceal
is all those thorns you hide,
the music of why
you'll end your life
and how many times you've tried