you were a fantasy, a bright-blue dream that i devoured, my eyes drowning in love as they fell upon you.
it seemed you could ignore the bright-red scars on my body and fold the drops of blood into roses.
so i believed i was a blossoming garden under your gaze. you unraveled my nightmares and spun them into intricate tapestries which i cherished in my daydreams.
i was a phoenix, rising and ready. i was an angel. with you i could live again.
then you left. you were an hour on a clock which ticked away much too fast. you were light, coming through an open window only for someone to close it.
to you, i wasn’t a rose. i was a bloody mess. i wasn’t a daydream. i was a nightmare. i wasn’t an angel. i was a ghost. i wasn’t a phoenix. i was burnt.