my blood runs hot when you're around,
your touch turns my skin to flames.
your voice chills the air and calms my thoughts,
uttering forgotten names.
who could blame a simple boy for loving
so completely and without consideration;
the portrait girl, with lips of red,
who conjured conflagration.
a tale so hopeless did never end so sweet,
as in a dream, said fair lady, rushed him off his feet.
but it is a sad and known truth,
that the night-time show
always ends with darkness.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
my blood runs hot when you're around,
your touch turns my skin to flames.
your voice chills the air and calms my thoughts,
uttering forgotten names.
who could blame a simple boy for loving
so completely and without consideration;
the portrait girl, with lips of red,
who conjured conflagration.
a tale so hopeless did never end so sweet,
as in a dream, said fair lady, rushed him off his feet.
but it is a sad and known truth,
that the night-time show
always ends with darkness.
written in one go without stopping, taking about 4 minutes
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