a play on words This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Fury so rich it can be called passion; ignite a way for the devil’s crimson to blaze. Toxic flames burst into busy parades around accident floor. Weakening wood with heated twisted tangos’ so passionate, holes burn into their soles, but with steps so positive, so sure, nothing is felt; just the heat, the fire, the anger, puffs of black soon join this deadly affair, mocking every step, hugging every un shadowed curve. Crackling ambers fly, creating a wave of claps, so loud, it wakes the sleeping ashes from the well desired rest. My eyes fall into a deep trance, the hypnotic dance leads me, temps me, to come closer. Uncovering true thoughts, coded by forced images of happiness. A life well so desired but not so well deserved. Mentally bound myself, I refuse to touch; I refuse to allow myself to travel, signing, in blood, away everything I know. Just to be a stranger, a stranger for today, tomorrow and when the hands of the clock rewind, I’ll be a stranger yesterday as well. Loving what I know not, but knowing not what I love, I simply refuse to love, as love refuses me. Many will try but trying with many, I tire, and tire me, the ideas of love will get lost, but losing love is what I wish, but wishing is only for those who know. Not knowing who I am, I know no wish so love will rest, I will tire, but trying is for those who wish and trying not, I wish for none. Back here I am with fire so rich it can be call passion, but passion so rich the fire shall destroy and I am none. For not knowing is not having and not having is not knowing what forms of love I truly desire, but desiring is only for the knowing, for the light hallways, hallways light by a desired knowing. And so I know not, I love not, and forever will I be lost but for evey remaining a shot in the dark and I am none.





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