A little spark in the midnight dark,
The faint light designs a scar,
Tenderly, it kisses away my tears,
'Pretty lady, ' it says,
'I never left, I'm still here.'
A fair blaze burns amidst the mist,
The bright glow, it cuts, cuts my wrist,
And with ease, it proceeds, it wins my trust,
'Pretty lady, ' it tells,
'For you, pain is a must.'
An evil flame fast makes its way,
More wounds, blood, more scars to stay,
And then, joyously, the flare removes its mask,
'I'm guilt, ' it claims,
'I'm your shameful past! '
A raging fire burns through the black,
With a triumphant laugh, it now attacks,
'Dear, dear, what's the fun in a scar or two? '
'Pretty lady, I want your heart! '
'I yearn to finish you! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem