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Who am I? |
R.I.P. Chris
Liquefying flooring...
A seraph, perched
Atop an opaline moon...
Sipping at green tea
from a bottle, I wonder...
We dreamt in darkness,
a memory where there was no light...
I walked in nightfall,
Stumbling along sinister lines...
Tossed upon waves
of wind, your hair shivered...
I once heard an angel, I once heard her sing.
Her voice was the light of heaven upon the wind of...
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The regret of every artist must be the incapability to give their souls to whom they've dedicated their heart to, because a heart is mendable, but a soul, once lost, cannot ever be recovered again. |