the me mirrored in your eyes

a burning desire, to burn myself,

the thorny rose's body torn,

causing it to rot after its death.

while a rotten borned scent

spreads speedily around the air,

I use my memories of you to start a fire.

Slowly changing, as the voices tell me,

you've never been what I think,

as peole show me, I've never been,

what I think I was or am.

Defying myself, I start defying my flesh,

burnt little by little,

a piece dropping down I dream of,

as I wake up of the heat in my flaming room.