Rough Sonnet

It was fall when we began to play chance,

Red, yellow, and orange sped by so fast,

Our lips touched and we began to dance,

Little did we know, it would never last,

Our hearts were so warm we went without shells,

But before we could settle, dusk had come,

My angst from that day could fill seven wells,

Each day that passes, I become more numb,

Snippets of our date have come here and there,

We talk of our lives as if things were just fine,

And then without warning, you seem to care,

You clutch my heart and forget it is mine,

I cannot see you as simply a friend,

I hope that one day we will cease to pretend.

This sonnet got dark really quickly. I seem to come off as this crazed-stalker, so I think I'll rewrite it in a lighter tone. Writing at 1:30AM probably steers that darkness. Thoughts?