Once I had a dream that drifted, scarred and sang and fell.
That echoed through the now empty cave that I refer to as my heart.
It danced through my head where it planted and began to grow.
It blossomed and lulled me into a trace.
You met me there, the blooming buds of roses, red like rubies or crimson blood.
Unlike roses, though, you lacked any thorns.
With all the passion of a storm you blew into my dreams and stole my attention and my affection.
All the corners of my mind were drunk with my affinity and captured by a vague impression of your beauty.
But all roses have thorns and I was a fool to have ignored the horned demons I clutched so tightly in my hands, the very ones I held in my heart, the ones I allowed passage into my mind.
I held the thorns with twisted bliss, the intoxicating agony that was your innermost self.
Clouded by the poison I held fast but like the delicate and masochistic rose you were, you withered in the heat.
The sun beat down and while I stood, sweating, crying, fighting for us, you fled.
You fled. You left. You ran and left me alone in the sun, drowning in the heat, with broken hands and broken heart.
My hands, callused and scorched are left with holes, holes from holding you despite your crime.
My heart is left with holes, holes from your hands which took hold of it and wrenched the life from it.
Once I had a dream that drifted, scarred and sang and fell.
A dream of us, of me and you, of our flame which ended with a word.
A word, a single word, a word which turned the flame against us to burn and scar our hands and our hearts.
A single word which you uttered with all the passion you could muster.
A single word which took the moments, the memories, the smiles.
The heat of your breath, the touch of your skin, the warmth of your smile, the fire in your eyes.
All for nothing.
Once I had a dream that drifted, scarred and sang and fell.
That dream was you.
Thank God I woke up.