Crimson Tears
My still beating heart is awash
With the dying flame of lamenting perfection,
I am afraid of the stirring within me,
But gripped with a desire,
A want, a thirst for the fire.
Surely it is impossible,
To want and to need,
And to shy and to flee,
The self same idol,
My sacrilegious divinity.
There was a gap from the first,
A rift with a bridge,
A swinging tightrope spanning the gorge;
It grew and crumbled,
Was remade and held fast,
Fell and was broken,
And now cleaves in twain,
To halves of a whole,
Ended at last.
What I would not give, to see you smile again.
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