Cracked marble tops
tell tales of conversation...
There's something nostalgic about
dimly-lit roads and faded footpaths...
If you could see the woods behind me
tall, quiet and yellow...
I am the stranger walking alone,
leaning to the right with packages...
Im sorry for being
Sorry for taking part...
Knife to the skin
Convictions in doubt...
She is my queen
I want her rosy lips...
On a warm August night
the light attracted them...
The distinct image of your glowing face,
flashes quickly across my mind furthermore...
First glance at me, and what will you see?
my clothing....black as day...
Tears pooling...pooling in those aqua coloured...
And it's ironic...so ironic that you can cry but...
Fortress of stone
Isolated around her heart...