I fear the exotic things inside you.
Probably the sparks in your soul
or just the words you choose not to speak
or maybe the shadow of my soul trapped in your veins.
I fear the way you bleed your poetry for the broken stars,
the moon and the night.
For maybe one day they’ll chase the trail of your words ;
taking away the colors that hold you strong ;
leaving you all monochromatic.
I fear the way you lust for real fictions,
the life stories of the dark creatures.
Of how they sip wine from the broken glasses
and how their frost lips bleed black.
For maybe one day they’ll trap you in their aroma
and you may never find your way back home.
And To me.