There are no more bridges left to turn to,
I’m afraid they’ve met their unfortunate fate:
A careless spark, an unplanned lit match,
Tossed upon a pyre of sacred names;
Kindling in the hands of a bygone saint.
Dare you call me friend? I think not. For my friendship is but a plague. You’re there for one brief second, and like a breathe of smoke, you’ve quickly gone away. All I touch quick turns to ash, and I...Show more
