On Craving the Truth

My love is hot and crimson, bursting inside myself.

Bloody and painful; it stings.

It is dangerous to live with that inside.

For, it isn't possible to care for anyone else, but you and the sweet scent of rose petals in your hair.

I cannot show you how I much yearn for you;

It is incredibly hard to see this fire being drenched by my own hand!

Being masked by unbreakable thick webs and harsh glares.

This is dangerous.

You cannot know how I feel;

If you do, I shall not forgive myself, will not forgive myself, if you shed a tear.