You stop to start my dear heart.
                                                 Whispers of cannot be invade your ears.
The night is cool and sullen. Your crystal ball swirling.musical chairs. Winding stairs with no answers.

The ceiling mocks your hopefull stares
Your pillow caresses as passion fruit swirls like crimson clouds.
Mocks aloud.

Easy to be hard.hard to be easy.

Rusted splatter lingers echoing past injustice.with scars stretched taut.

Sullen is the night.

                                                We ask the question.the answer stands akimbo. Glaring. Defiant to the senses.
Beginning's end ushers end's beginning.

Who is to blame?
The moth or the flame.           Truth is farce. A tepid liar.

Rules are amourphous. Real or tristy.
So. We ask.again.again.

Who is to blame?       Careless moth?
                                  Mercilesss flame ? Who.is to blame.