the boy had fingertips made of pure white flames

back when the walls were closing in,

i was unrecognizable

my own skin had an elusive disguise

it was drenched in icewater

and nothing can get through a sheet of solid blackice

without a certain,


his rays of light omitted onto me is the type of beauty only pure luck enables 

the type you cannot wash away,

engraved forever in the subconcious 

he’ll leave his mark

and i will melt

because i was ice cold before him

but he turned me into his 

lady iridescent,


and as warm as the sun.


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Guide that inspired this poem: 


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