Painted a picture of you in that gown,
and me in that tuxedo, well i painted myself out.
And all the words once heartfelt,
became tiny scratches of ink on a paper so pale.
i was a fire,
but you were a prism.
you made up every color,
and i just didn't.
i only existed for a second.
you're still poetry in motion.
Dream of a soul mate that's not a prison,
so you can always stay that pheonix that's risen,
no more ashes,
with you there's only perfection.
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