#by mayfly

[thegreatbigfiresofamind]

You look as if the sun chose to shine on your features

So much so that I am convinced she shares my ambitions

Of witnessing that song of yours, now, our common mission

So sing it once more, i beg, a silent question

I have indulged in every premonition that haunt my very visions

Of you, of love, I’ve dreamt of a balcony for us, parisian

A wine glass colors your skin, red, I thank the sun for the collision

She sets, in the distance, whispering a defeated congratulation

I watch the orange tint dance in your hair some more, you’re a sculpture, grecian

I could never hope for anything more until I bore witness to this repletion

But it passes, as moments often do, although, to me, you’re forever abloom in carnation

‘Cause with every moment that passes, another begins, and so is creation

[thegreatbigfiresofamind]

On one hand, you had a gun

Then a note, on the other

Your tears turned into puddles, rivers down your chin Your hand, held out, begging for drought, your downpour’s from within And you played it out, pushed it down, you thought you’d be a martyr But, my love, when they found you, the gun was in your hand A note in the other But before that, Praise filled the air wherever you walked, you were the hope, and you were the talk You were a lot of things, and an abundance of those would follow you home Under the covers, under the disguise, of your very own soul, of your very own tide Wanderlust, pleaded, stars, defeated, expectations, exceeded Success, debated Now, it seems, you are at a crossroads, a crossfire, an impasse, and you’re tired The walk, the hope, the talk, you roped yourself into this For exhaustion is merely a pity, a drop in the wide, wild sea A heart of gold, in a world of the bold, but you know that you can be Free Enraptured by possibility, captured by time Enchanted by your sweet demise, yet stranded in your mind Dearest, I can’t help you now, you’ve no umbrella in this thunderstorm No one else could love you more, but I’m the fiction that you wrote I’m only your own, but in this room, you are alone A fraction of a train of thought, a revolver in sight A pen inking the paper, a body on the ground You reach, you grab it, but the drought strays further away The gun is now in your hand, a note that you’ve palmed You’re still alone, and I still only exist in thought

[thegreatbigfiresofamind]

And I’d wait for you With bated breath If I could bait This heart of mine That you would Someday Truly be mine