Fantasy
The word begets only ill formed shapes in my mind
Of the glint of sunlight on metal
Of crimson red,
And yet I can’t stop thinking of them.
Their taste draws me in like blood to a shark
And I can’t help but bite into the lure.
your vision, your voice
Fantasy
The word begets only ill formed shapes in my mind
Of the glint of sunlight on metal
Of crimson red,
And yet I can’t stop thinking of them.
Their taste draws me in like blood to a shark
And I can’t help but bite into the lure.