[ written in an imaged state of mind ]

I smother daffodils between my fingertips,
Forever ignoring the scalding sunrays,
As they lap softly on my burnt skin
(Watch them tremble at the things I’ve been)

And soon, when dusk paints the sky,
I reach out for another page, another quill,
Another time, I sit by the windowsill
(Watch the day flicker when I write of sin)

Darling, people around me must find it funny,
Oh, how I live like a devil and claim that I’m a fairy.
(I held you like the darkness; at least I held me softly)