dammnit! im back!
The moment of seizure, the land of subtle joys, and perfection.
What is this imperfection?
Stand she, blood eyed flower, incoherent, her face the residue of her past mistake.
Out beyond the cluttering of heartbeat, Here, She coughs, she loses control. It is well said that she digs her own grave. Her buddy is a fortune and your willing to accept its death. Perhaps it’s the reason to gain celestial wings; perhaps it might be the reason sitting in captivity.
There’s only one thing I know, the Amber skin, the soft voice, the fearful ease I withdrew, If a woman is the death of man, I’m willing to die for a woman.
What is this imperfection?
Stand she, blood eyed flower, incoherent, her face the residue of her past mistake.
Out beyond the cluttering of heartbeat, Here, She coughs, she loses control. It is well said that she digs her own grave. Her buddy is a fortune and your willing to accept its death. Perhaps it’s the reason to gain celestial wings; perhaps it might be the reason sitting in captivity.
There’s only one thing I know, the Amber skin, the soft voice, the fearful ease I withdrew, If a woman is the death of man, I’m willing to die for a woman.