A spoiled brat of love

She thinks as I suppose,

Feels her heart as if beats,

Talks herself though not lunatic,

Walks her way to the edge of peak,

As if not spoiled brat of love,

Breathes hard in her words,

Hurting every corner of my heart,

The love in eyes,

Wanting of my lips and chest,

You cry every moment,

Every moment of your life,

For you, to feed of wanting,

I feel like leaving you there,

In the middle of the fire of your thoughts,

We have nothing to share.