I used to be a crystal, melting into sound
I let myself be soft, so I can be heat-bound.
So I can visit places, which used to leave me burnt
But gave me choking pleasure I need not to return.

I used to be a moth attracted to the light
That wants to dive in heat, instead it finds a fight.
The fire – cheap reflection, of what I thought was pure.
Of what is both my poison and my cure.

Wild Roses
Survive the winter.
Survive the pain.
The acid rain.

I am a rose with petals, which sometimes pick up dirt.
It comes as no surprise it often leaves me hurt.
The petals with the bruises, they often come to fall.
But then to take their place new petals grow.