Low lit room with a hundred souls between us
Oceans of stories and desires filling up their lusts
Brown eyes killing me steadily in ways I know oh so very well
My blue eyes are a sea of passion but she’s not thirsty I can tell
So I smile at her, wishing she saw me for the man I aspire to be
If she only assented to hold my hand I would conquer the world for her freely
But aren’t all love stories best when tragedy looms ahead?
When we hope and pray for the princess but lose instead?
So let her perfection drive me onward to my end as long as I remember her wistful gaze
I can die a bleeding bloody mess but smile from that memory, lost in my romantic haze
-CL Fuqua
