Burn.

You were such a perfect flower
to me. Pretty and smug,
you've sat on my windowsill.
A different spectrum of
colors you've soaked in
your petals.
Your veins filled with
fire. You burned from
the inside. You caught
me in the process. Leaving
a scar to throb on my
wrist.
You've burnt down my
world.
There's just a pile of ashes left,
that's seeping through
my finger-tips.