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...
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. |