Those holy hours,
Fashioned for lovers

Recipe of contented sighs,
Futures planned in star hushed whispers

But it is I alone who dwells within them,
These lonely hours

Good only for licking wounds,
Or tearing new ones

He smells of fireworks.
Well, now that I think of it- not the explosions
His scent is of that burn that lingers-
I know,
I know that it is acrid,
That when he leaves I will taste it, while it burns my throat.
But isn't it exciting anyway?

I do as well agree
This world is a sad one indeed
Earth can never be a place of peace
When evil still spread its seeds
Earth can never be home again
When selfishness continue to breed
History told us its tales
With the voice of its victims
And written when they bleed
Cut those pages in million pieces
And make them fire's feed
No magic wand can solve everything
It's only justice, what we really need