She speaks of Byron and Van Gogh,
of poets and madmen and midsummer nights dream,
of longing and lust in nights of Black and Crimson skies.
As she bleeds inside and cries tears no one sees.
She speaks in lavish words of imagined lovers and hoped for love,
a doomed romantic in a self imposed prison...
of self doubt and invisible insecurities.
Amber lights like sunrise light up her night,
while the scent of firewood drifts from a glass jar.