3 acessos
Colour
Medusa sits
36 puntcures away
a mere skeleton
Accosting me, haunting me, poisoning herself,
herself
The colour that fades, with the loss of
innosence, need be, regained, to show,
true form
Beautiful and serine when omitting the
blood-stained stream, from which my heart
beats and history repeats.
Right, now
To prevent atrophy tonight, or we
shall fade into the sky with the bile
that will soon dissipate into our sky
What started serine, like translusecent water
shineing in the sun corrupted with bother
I wish it would rain
Now my blood runs red,
Dripping from your needle
like the rain that falls
from your wounded steeple