The pride in his eyes
Melting into my soul
As fire spreads through the forest
It's spreading throughout my body
Like a thorn penetrating through my skin
It's eating me alive

The pride in his eyes
Is suffocating my soul
As thirst spreads through the throat
It's agonising my body
Like a neil penetrating through my bones
It's killing me bit by bit

The pride in his eyes
Is haunting me alive

At the end of the day, we all are stories written as cures or curses in people's lives ...
It possibly could be some beautiful curse that develops people's lives.
And some cure that ruins people's lives.
Yes, it might act opposite as some stories are forcefully forged by characters who aren't supposed to be tangled within the chapters in the stories.

Carrying a photocard of us
Is like carrying a broken dream

A broken dream, yes
I carry this dream in my pencil case
No I don't self sabotage myself by gazing at it all the time.
But I keep it to reassure me that you are here
Somewhere near
So near
Just right in my pencil case

Sometimes it's heavy
The weight of it just gets me
The broken pieces of this dream
Makes me bleed

But I carry it
Just a broken dream
Placing it in my pencil case so near
In a form of a photocard

Our
       souls
                  are
                          the
                                 perfect
                      symbolism
                of
         tied
souls

How many times do I have to play
the game of roses
where naively I ask if
"you love me?'
Or
"you love me not'
and let the petals cease our fate

Many
          footprints
                          on my heart
                                               yet
                                                    yours
   ­                                                          more apparent

We were just like the spring
So new
And
Our love just like summer
Vibrant flames of burning passion
And now
Our memories just like autumn
Providing armful comfort
And
Our signature places just like winter
Frozen in time