Looking in the mirror I ask can you hear me. Long lived tales seen in the eyes of man, dismissed by the wave of your hand. For you, I remember brass guitar strings painting our world a beautiful shade of green; Soft and heavy, warm vanilla with a cruel streak of black ice, a day to remember never to last. Rise and fall the reflection ripples, starving the senses with distorted visions in image of you. Branded by truth, breathed into me as air to fire. Burning in my skin the story is written. With your mythology seared within the flesh, and cold smoke foreshadowing the pit to claim me.
I surrender.
© kissestobeth