A dream if like a whisper; soft and pleading. It's the trickle that needs to stirred.
The wood simpers to the flame, entangled in a dance of ruin. And as do we, my love.
Battered was my heart in the deep search, branded with cracks like slices of silver birch. An ignorant dream, a wish, just fool's gold -- that was the tale that love had sold.
My sanity felt like it was hanging over a pit, dangling on a frayed string that I knew was going to break - it was only a matter of when.
