• roxana91 10w

    Traffic light

    She is the living flame
    That burns the pages I write.
    She's the only reason
    My demons sometimes fight.

    It is the thought that haunts my mind,
    And the sword that takes my breath apart.
    She is the blood that flows into the pen,
    With which my heart weeps
    When I share my dreams.

    She is the numbness
    That makes me burn sometimes.
    She is the tear that falls into the ocean,
    Trying to find out why I should stay lucid.

    She is the claw I feel in my chest
    When I miss her,
    When I feel incomplete,
    When I want to be listened by her emotions.

    She is the living flame
    That keeps my veins warm.
    She is the red sign at the traffic light
    For which I risk crossing the street.