I cuddled up witha metaphor that wascaught in the corner ofmy room.I dressed it in thesilk of kings, and fedit from the fracturedtrees of innocence.Low-hanging fruit ofdespair gets usevery time.

The hum hum of the musicOne sleepy faceThe shisha lightsYou in front of meTakenBut oh good sexYou took a look at meI could not stop my smilePretended smoking cough The hum hum of the musicOne sleepy faceThe neon lightsYou in...

Black wings that flutter through stormy sunshine. That storm within… with the sun glowing through black clouds that gathered over my eyes… Bright enough to penetrate into the dark of my soul… This storm and sun intertwined, ebony silhouette of the raven soaring through...