Cold finger tips
Rush down my arm
Yet fire burns through my veins
Lighting me up
What I feel is not life
Rather a silver lining
Passionate yet sorrow
Filled with a vengeance that cuts deep
My eyes roll back
The kiss of death now comes

A sugary sweet smell
Of a flower
It twists and turns
Sharp vines puncture itself
Yet it flows along
When the wind comes it drifts along with it
But a rock can not understand that
The rock sits and stays
A strong silent type
Obedient in its own will
Not so much stubborn rather unsure