Adrian Mallory – Untitled


As the burning fires of our conversations
flicking beautifully momentarily
in the day bursting clouds of grey,
Burn down to the last glowing embers
and the cold wind of reality tenders
to the last red bursts of passion,
The original substance of affection
has become a distorted reflection
contorted by my own perceptions
from dark lonely nights
I grow bitter and angry
at heated promises of perfection

And when it grows cold and lonely
and we try to reignite a spark
I create wooden tribute to memory
of the fire that spat embers and burnt
seared scars into bark of my arms
You ask me what abomination
I have produced, I tersely reply
that it is my pure creation
microcosm of the flame we had
And the words scalded your heart
Tears quench the jagged daggers
sculpture of flames and pains
cold night bites at my limbs
and I struggle to remember
Even the dying twisted ember
never mind the burning flame
and all my memory allows is pain
to prevent me from playing with fire again


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