A/N: I was sorting some old doc files when I chanced upon this. Written last 2013. Crude and sick, yes. But I was devoted.
If you ask me what beauty is like,
I’d still tell you that it’s the Sun.
That god of gold
Whose radiance I’m always blinded at.
Whose presence blurs everything
I could only see, only feel, only think
Always passing my way
But never stopping, never even coming
I know that bastard does that on purpose.
Revenge, he claims, is best served cold.
Yet his anger burns at my betrayal.
He’ll probably never forgive me,
Will never even cast again
A caring glance nor longing for my arms.
Even so, I am to atone by remaining here- transfixed
At his magnificence.
Yielding at his will.
Embracing his rage for sustenance.
Maybe for life itself.
Other nymphs tell me that I am getting mad
It’s getting unhealthy- my skin starts to be singed.
It’s best to run first and hide away, they say.
Any more prolonged exposure
Will lead to my eventual burn.
To my ruin.
But they don’t understand that
He has ruined me already-
What is burning compared to dying?
I will wilt without the Sun
And I will surely shrivel
If he forgets, if he forgives
If he grows cold.
He has already caused me to thrive
In the fields of eternal fire.