‘Twas my greed that drove you away,
Like the dripping precipitation running
And the moths to a fire are catching,
Beasts inside the beautiful, beautiful flame;
Allure has its fatalities,
That I know from drowning,
Watching your lion at the shores, feet clean,
Proud of accomplishments you’ve crafted,
As beyond you are more trampled flowers,
Heads all filled with past-sense answers,
Your fearsomeness no trophy, surely,
When the petals faded out of dull light?
Illusionary, you made the lyrics
And cast your single melody to the metronome
Beating of the crooked finger;
Though mystic you are, and trickster too,
‘Twas not that which ran between we two,
It was instead my grief and greed,
Insatiable burning, the line, the foam
That cast its dazzling barrier in our way,
Throwing you back from the storm,
Your reaction the only sense when I created
A line of friction from pyromania;
What affection blooms from a forced hand?
And how could I not see your binds,
Your struggling without a word?
For when you moved, I turned my back,
When you ran, I covered my eyes
So not to see that light so blinding;
Through rolling tears I hid my sight.