In the same hour of the heart falling to the stomachs pit, the celestial being Spreads her wings, in the graveyard of a soulless night. The lachrymal Weeps Silently, weeps dry. Ineptitude in every void, except for that

Wanning light. The soul is an eternity. Is it impossible to remain broken Forever? The shadows are a symptom of reality, much like glue.
The wraith of sadness, sadness, sadness. Is it really me?

Pain like arid broken glass from a lifetime before, sometimes lives fresh,
And alive. I could paint a silhouette of time, of my time, I could paint a
Silhouette of the waves, I could paint a silhouette of dying, dying in time.

I paint lines around my eyes to define my soul, and make a black and
White copy. Is it really me? The angel spreads with vigor, her wings large
And black. She disappears silently like a lamb with no name.

I am left perched in the middle of self discovery. Am I so determined to Know? What right have I got to know? I go alone middled in the woods.

Wow! Thankyou so much for sharing....I feel you.

WOW!! Amazing!!

Awww very nice

Deep and dark...I love your writing honey

Nice...