Charred memories portrayed in petals.
Fiery poison staining my eyes.
Bittersweet and full of remorse.
Shadows speaking of a different tale.
Love letters lost on the tides of fate.
The wax and incense of my mind,
Burning slowly, memories fading.
Undescribable fears scalding my skin.
Sins and tears know nothing's about but within.
Saltwater brine threatens my cheeks.
Fire dances to an Unholy rhythm.
We watch, mesmerized,
Entranced by the light of romance,
And swallowed by the darkness that enfolds us.
Bitterness, the invisible thorn of a rose.
The bushes are burning.
The night is Biblical in proportions.
But all that is left,
Is the burnt roses.

Cracking Knuckles
By Charles Moffat

I catch myself 
I'm doing it again 
Its not from nervousness 
Its not from worry 
Its from loneliness 
I feel so alone 
I used to like my solitude 
The quiet 
The weekends are too quiet 
I need something to do 
Laughter and hugs 
A kiss on my cheek