he's gold

like the sun.

oh how he blinds you.

warmth on his hands

that so lightly touch yours.

reminds you of a campfire,

the way he burns.

steady and bright and true.

but as the poem [life] goes:

nothing gold can stay.

watch him leave.

that halo seeming a lot more

tarnished now, isn't it?

you always see the best in people

until it's time to see the worst

you almost wish you didn't

have a heart.

then it wouldn't hurt so much.

everything is grey.

like smudged eyeliner or

tear tracks on a page or


and you're blind again,

but this time because

he's not there to

show you the