Oct 2013
They say,
How come we match?
When you're like fire
Burning, blazing, scorching,
Never knowing just when
To hold back and stay back.
Like fire, they say
Young, untamed, unpredictable
Stopping only once
You've burned everything down.
And I'm the water that turned
To snow as it fell;
Once beautiful and alive,
Now vulnerable and dry.
The snow that turned
To ice, they say;
Cold, lifeless, silent,
Bound to melt at the slightest
Change in temperature.
They say
That one day your embers will turn to flames
And those flames will change everything
They touch, to ashes
That will never come back to life again.
That one day my ice will turn back to water
And the water will taste
Like whiskey, that'll just burn
A thirsty throat.
And I say
True, we're different,
Complete opposites, maybe.
You're like roses in the wild;
Prone to looking better,
After the rain.
And I'm the thorn;
Prone to pricking
Everything that touches it.
But doesn't every rose need a thorn
To be complete?
Because I was the story that went unheard
And you were the voice that told it again,
I was the few words that went unspoken
And yours were the lips that spoke them again,
I was the wound that was just healing
And you were the tourniquet that stopped the bleeding.
So tell them*
That I'll be the one to murk your fire,
Like you were the one to break my ice.
And let it all suffice.
How come we match?
When you're like fire
Burning, blazing, scorching,
Never knowing just when
To hold back and stay back.
Like fire, they say
Young, untamed, unpredictable
Stopping only once
You've burned everything down.
And I'm the water that turned
To snow as it fell;
Once beautiful and alive,
Now vulnerable and dry.
The snow that turned
To ice, they say;
Cold, lifeless, silent,
Bound to melt at the slightest
Change in temperature.
They say
That one day your embers will turn to flames
And those flames will change everything
They touch, to ashes
That will never come back to life again.
That one day my ice will turn back to water
And the water will taste
Like whiskey, that'll just burn
A thirsty throat.
And I say
True, we're different,
Complete opposites, maybe.
You're like roses in the wild;
Prone to looking better,
After the rain.
And I'm the thorn;
Prone to pricking
Everything that touches it.
But doesn't every rose need a thorn
To be complete?
Because I was the story that went unheard
And you were the voice that told it again,
I was the few words that went unspoken
And yours were the lips that spoke them again,
I was the wound that was just healing
And you were the tourniquet that stopped the bleeding.
So tell them*
That I'll be the one to murk your fire,
Like you were the one to break my ice.
And let it all suffice.
