Her words mostly gave me comfort and cure,

And often gave me pain that I couldn't endure.

 

Her words mostly tasted like the first sip of wine, 

And often sent the coldest chill down the spine. 

 

Her words mostly provided feelings to my pen, 

And often haunted me until I reached my den. 

 

Her words mostly left the colours of the butterflies, 

And often burnt like the fiery flight of the fireflies. 

 

Her words mostly wished me the happiness of the world,

And often let my headspace get curled and whirled.

 

Her words mostly helped me bear up, 

And often made me want to tear up. 

 

Her words mostly danced all night,

And often picked up a mighty-fight.

 

Her words mostly felt like a red-lovely rose,

And often felt like a red-herring prose.

 

Her words mostly felt like the chorus of a song,

And often felt like a high-note going wrong.

 

Her words mostly seemed like a blue-wild-indigo,

And often felt like a withered flower of Van Gogh.

 

Her words mostly were dressed-up all white,

And often gave me nightmares in the daylight.

 

Her words mostly left a remarkable aftertaste,

And often gave me enough reasons to hate.

 

Her words mostly felt eternal and forever,

And often made me sadder than ever.

 

Her words mostly made me smile so wide,

And often pushed me back with a high-tide.

 

Her words mostly crept through my ears to the heart,

And often stung the centre of my chest with a dart.

 

Her words mostly beat around the bush,

And often silenced me with a hush.  

   

Her words mostly were sensible and evocative, 

And often were off-the-lane and provocative. 

 

Her words mostly were bittersweet,

And often left my wounds open to bleed.

 

Her words will mostly stay with me for a long time,

And will often make me write poems in the night.