Forget all the memories that we once replayed,

Evidence of the crime that we both have made.

As I roam metaphorically out of your room and into the night.

I look up to the sky and doubt my sight.

The stars on fire, the heavens enraged.

I've walked out on freedom and into my cage.

I've been tested, examined, and tried of my own will.

Passion was a blessing,

But it bared more than good will.

Double edged was the sword "Passion" that commited the crime,

And I used it to cut us both.

Just a small mistake on my part.

Just a nip, a tiny incision,

And passion was flowing through our veins.

But passion is the devils fruit,

So we fell victim to our own wills.

I injured the one I cared for the most.

Completely going against my ideals.

Trust is now an issue because I committed another taboo.

It was cut by passion too.

Right down to the veins.

And now I am back at the scene stuck in time.

As I stand waiting to be judged.

Passion was the crime,

But passion was the dividing line between love and hate.

Now which do I want to take the blame.

Love?

Or hate?

Crime of Passion....