• Firey passion
    Consummse me.

    Pulses through my viens
    And poors out, like lava,
    Ripping apart the rocks
    It falls apon.

    It's a conttiversal prosses,
    It cleanses the mind,
    Whipes it clean of inperfections,
    But soild the paper
    Once elegant and bright.

    The old givesway to new,
    As somthing else,
    Something differnt comes to be.

    What is this new form?
    Is it good or bad?
    The only thing really know,
    Is that the old is dead.