Burn ((The Words))

Delicacies turn to ashes.
Quiet paper rests on fragile tongues.
Mistakes burn beacons in the night,
as a heart mutanies a lung.

Red roses bleed unto paper.
Just another poem, burned to the ground.
Building up fortress walls,
just for the sport of tearing them back down.

Matches rain like snowflakes..
Tired ashes on a bitter tongue.
Burn down the words now, darling.
The only light bleeds from the cold black sun.