if you dare speak ill
of my body and soul,
your opinion will forever remain
incorrect,
in my opinion.

Cogs spin in my brain,
and I've been graciously informed
that I have no heart,
that I am a machine.

Perhaps it is true,
for when I hold a crimson rose,
it ****** my finger,
and out comes gasoline.

The flame that burns
the purest shade of silver
sends a shiver of euphoria
down my spine,
to my brain,
a tingle of excitement
surging through my veins.

in every fable, every tale,
there will be a gatekeeper
to the treasure you seek.
a valiant hero
you may be
but pass through the gates,
you need not strength
but skill.
a sharp, quick mind
to answer the impossible riddle
that keeps you from what you need.

You create a spark
with the friction of your hand
against mine;
with the friction of your lips
against my own;
you kindle a fire
within me,
as though your fingertips
were flint and steel.

you're so dull,
so simple,
so
black and white.

that's how you see the world,
right?
black and white.

i,
however,
see the world
in colour.

I know what I saw,
what I felt,
it was dangerous,
mischievous.

So please,
I beg of you,
take my word as gospel
and hide from the shadows
that lurk within you.