Saturday, 12 January 2008
I wish I could take a needle, slip it into my vein,
And drain this poison before it leaves a stain.
Before it blackens behind my eyes,
Before it deceives my protecting lies.
I can't let them see what's truly lurking inside;
So in Poetry, I must confide.
"You cut me with your knife,
Just to see if I would bleed out strife.
The days passed by and the wound never healed,
And so with stitches I sealed,
The skin back together, but it was too late;
The infection had begun when you left me irate."
Now sore wounds don't bleed,
When Hatred has planted it's seed,
But the danger of so much fire,
Isn't that the flames will rise higher -
Stretching, grasping for the sky;
The danger is that the flames may never die.
Step back, stay away, you may get burned,
And the lesson you'd have learned -
So cliche yet not a liar,
Never Play With Fire...