The spark travels along the nerves like a live wire,
Turning every cell it touches into a blazing fire.
With that, we fall victim to our own passion,
Wrapped in the appeal of the latest fashion.
This feeling poisons our mind as it takes us higher.
Gathering the wood for our own pyre.
Such hopeless love taints our heart,
And sets the stage as we fall apart.
In the end, we're trapped in a cage with no key,
Caught in this dangerous web that we weave.
At last, we're caught in our own personal Hell,
Alone in the dark where all our demons dwell.
YOU ARE READING
Pain Is Beauty
PoetryHey guys, this is a collection of poems that I have written when my brain was overworking. Poetry is a passion of mine and I love writing on my down time, but I hope you guys enjoy.
