Dec 2014
Who is she but blood of that demise
In fiery passion her own blood consumes?
Like powder waiting for the heat of flame
Whose heat in lonely agony she bathes?
What is it but fire of that demise
Whose sacrificial prodigies be made
To keep him superstitious of the flame?
And in triumph, like fire, they consume.
In fiery passion her own blood consumes?
Like powder waiting for the heat of flame
Whose heat in lonely agony she bathes?
What is it but fire of that demise
Whose sacrificial prodigies be made
To keep him superstitious of the flame?
And in triumph, like fire, they consume.
i wrote this when i was fourteen... my style has changed but my love for imagery and symbolism quite clearly has not
