(no subject)
Looking through the glass, I know no more than what I see.
My vision is impaired with a kiss long left by blood-red lips.
Her hand streaks white-washed walls and leaves a trail of dusty remembrance.
Corridors are walked by those who have forgotten, and left a picture mounted on the shelf.
Dancing is forbidden; shunned without consideration, as vanity is envied; painted with admiration.
Bow down to her body deserted in the catacombs, and drink her blood that sheds the innocence.
Her broken neck reveals the reason of death, as another lover comes to prey on her snow-white skin.
On his knees, he is buried with her sacrificial cross.
The blood is fresh, her eyes wide and willing,
and her house of worship will never cease to be.
My vision is impaired with a kiss long left by blood-red lips.
Her hand streaks white-washed walls and leaves a trail of dusty remembrance.
Corridors are walked by those who have forgotten, and left a picture mounted on the shelf.
Dancing is forbidden; shunned without consideration, as vanity is envied; painted with admiration.
Bow down to her body deserted in the catacombs, and drink her blood that sheds the innocence.
Her broken neck reveals the reason of death, as another lover comes to prey on her snow-white skin.
On his knees, he is buried with her sacrificial cross.
The blood is fresh, her eyes wide and willing,
and her house of worship will never cease to be.