Choosing fiction from reality is but a dangerous...
A dream from which you will not wake...
Twisting and turning
Spindly black...
Her skin smells of lavender,
to match the shade of her eyes...
Dreams are good,
dreams are bad...
Another day has gone by and back to my bed i go...
A mirror that sends, a touch with grace
Same movement not the same face...
The cold and stiff air
She slowly breath...
So I sang my song
of lament and fear...
Late at night darkness has consumed the skies,
In a secluded room, concealed from prying eyes...
Plant the black roses
Deep in the ground...
My skin is dark with my hair afire
My body is what all men desire...
New times have come
and they brought...