slowly
you guide me
into a flame high enough
to touch the sky
it doesn't burn you
but the tendrils of warmth
reach for my wrist
and urge me forward
and i listen to them
as the hiss of untold truth
leaks into my ears
you bring me to the center
where your heart lays
in a pile of ashes
crisp, but still usable
i hold it in my hands
a stark contrast
to my frostbitten mind
because fire and ice
do mix
and we made a beautiful storm
YOU ARE READING
What's Wrong
Poetrysome of these might not make sense but trust me neither does my mind