And with f ire of both amber and sun. Lying down, in this easy of a room of mine, my mind.
To you.
It speaks.
Of how it misses the light from your eyes.
Full of life.
Love me, my f ire.
My sun.
Or suffocation is my fate towards death.
Of coldness and dark.
I remember how fool of a man I was, tricking myself into the believe of love that was, will never be, celebrated in the cold night.
In this hour of truth, I speak.
Again and again.
How your touch, will light me, or burn me.
Dead.
By your side.
