My grandfather called it a sickness
He said I’d burn forever, Him as my witness
But my heart is lighter than it’s ever been
So I’m (not) sorry, grandpa, I won’t call this a sin
Because I see golden sunspots in her eyes
She’s molten honey and amber skies
She feels like home, the way it’s supposed to be
She’s cerulean stars in this slate-gray sea
If my friends’ love can be public, why, then, shouldn’t mine?
Through this emerald envy, my heart beats a battle cry:
You can yell until you’re red, and you can scream until you’re blue
But you’d have to kill me dead before this love you could undo
And even in the end, it won’t tear her from my heart
You’d have to kill my soul before you could rip us apart
And if it truly is a sickness,
If red hell I do incur,
I go down regretting nothing
I will proudly burn for her
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.