Is beauty something other than what we are?
Ignite me into sparks,
Let me burn into chunks
Our differences,our default
Yearning In silence
Affirmation from the other
Wishing we could pour ourselves in to each other
And curve the other
To our hearts desire
Lust and love a thing line almost
Slipping in and out like it’s our
favourite pair of jeans
Not enough words for these big feelings we have
Craving the truth
Addicted to the thrill,
In assumptions and chaos
The former, become a vicious circle
Enslaved by our own mistakes
As our prides pride gloats in victory?
The hurt? Is how we know something was lost
And In absence ,we worshipped at the alter of a silent god. Fear
There is no superb beauty without some sort of strangeness in the proportionBy Edgar Allan Poe.