Sitting all alone again in the dark,
sometimes you prefer it this way,
sometimes you desire vicinity,
in a way you never felt before.

What is this sorcery?
What is this madness that flows through you like nothingness?
Devotion, attachment,
yet there is no retort.

Even the sky above the grimly desert would bow to you, cry to you,
could not reciprocate.
All that's left is the withering rose at road's end.

Why must it be this trail?
You burn, you freeze, you flourish
no matter the result,
as notoriety will be immortalized,
upon this cursed and blessed land.

Please let me partake in your eyes' gaze,
as they are earth's portal straight to heaven.
Give me a reason not to fall for your caring being
and I will maturely accept.

Even the birds on mother nature's arm call your delightful name,
but you always turn your cold back on them,
not appreciating the effort they are putting into it,
and the honesty they represent.

When I planted that humble rose on roads' end among the desert,
sprouting the way it never did back then,
I'll wait for you to greet it,
when my love is ready to be claimed.

Many question the existence of the phantom,
for its childish, almost keen judgmental eye on humanity,
engaging itself in their lives,
sharing solace with the suffered ones since not all tears are an evil,
or scratching sadistically its claws on their backs in malice.

For the specter cannot fully grasp true human essence,
its sole purpose woven into a grander scheme,
belonging to those who appreciate oneself,
the presence of a lifeless entity consuming more and more.

In a dire predicament it's on the hunt for friends or foes,
as time thickens, space thins out,
once a harbinger of terror,
now becoming its own prey, slipping out of reality,
as the phantom reaches its claws out to daylight,
for it shall not be forgotten,
nevermore.

Tell me why you left me here to rot,
the hole in my heart stretching out to the sea’s surface,
veiling a silk-made sun.

I’ve been anticipating your return by the shore across the nameless sea,
but when even the fog’s hive dissipated,
I could not bless my very eyes with your expected arrival.

My fingers trembling, turning numb from the chilly wind,
all blood within slowing down,
yet whenever I think of you, my fervent passion’s rising.

Now, truth be told, the draining cold gets the better of me,
the sheer heated thought of you dealing with the raging death battle,
wishing you would find me in all this unbearable mess.

If only you came sooner.

Venom creeping across the surface,
enveloping the darkest spots of my feet,
wishing it'd be time to make you cleanse me,
wherever you might be.

They say the greater you rise, the harder you break — is that the shape of happiness fading?

The sky is blue, the grass is green,
yet my eyes are red,
wondering where my yellow is,
for I want to experience the peaceful sunset at last.

In the blink of an eye,
everything that was once purely promising,
was lost to its most formidable and unforgiving foe,
change.

She was once a survivor,
now a compromised victim,
her lifeless body laying on the echoing crosswalk,
leaking into a puddle of artistic passion and time.

Now, sluggish snow crystals fall, singing goodbye,
sheathing carefully a blanket over tender flesh,
while I give in to her frozen embrace,
desiring to linger across timeless ages,
waiting for change to grant me passage into her soul.

You need not see the bride’s snow-white gown twice,
conquering every single piece of the endless blood-red carpet,
including all gazes,
even the lurking ones,
made from pure evil within.

Cherishment here and there,
as time gets ****** in,
sinister bolts strike through dense crowds,
witnessing a soon falling angel.

A chilling scream echoes,
hinting at the ever-watchful walls,
muffled whispering mockingly in a hush,
blending red and white altogether,
pink blood webs rooting beneath her feet,
shadow falling across the black velvet.