In the desolation when I think of you, I feel like embracing fire. Black, red, destructive. In the noise when I think of you, I feel like holding a rose. Beautiful, dainty, painful. At night when I think of you, I feel like holding a bent book. Broken, imperfect, indifferent. In the morning when I think of you, I feel like looking at the sun. Prism, untouchable, poison. You are the sun, and I am the eyes, taking in every ounce of pain just to see your light.