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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required O n c e upon a medieval arc, when the coral night was engrossed in fuchsia epitaphs of fireflies, your fingers, embalmed in the fangs of february moon, shredded the love ~ patchworked upon my lifeline, as gold-lilacs slowly wilted in a casket of wisteria vines ~ and Luna faded in the candlelit cracks of y o u , my beloved... If the sunset were soaked in tears and the skies rained rubies across maroon meadows of melancholic maidens ~ as they plucked peridot flowers and let the agony glide on pollen, collected in a bouquet of stars, you would've been the memory which I enveloped within rainbows and carefully laced with warmth, above my clementine constellation... Perhaps, my conscience deluded me into believing, that you were ~ the catharsis for my confusion, the cure for my clueless conscience, the blessing beautifying my bane... and the hydrangea haven for my hope... I can never be Persephone, etching emeralds upon burnt caramel branches, for, you were never my Hades ~ who promised me the clarity of crystal cuckoos, in the orchestrating omen of your unfaithful underworld. And maybe, I became one of those lost spirits, sketched between splitting symphonies of life and lifeless ~ washed with dove-graphites, a mere s h a d o w , or an illustrated hallucination in my own nightmares. So, whenever the rust flakes fall, ricocheting with snow ~ your presence will be a glass prophecy hanging with thorns in the cage of my heart, with no metaphor to manipulate this marionette ~ cushioned upon raspberry relics, for an ending, relishing the paranoia of petals ~ detached from your dreams. Dear satanic prince, could you please break this silence ~ staining our serenity stitched in scarlet ? Is your heart a bloodthirsty swan swallowing my sun in its fatal attraction, or have I inhaled a breath, rippling in the sea of roses ~ as the last feuille d'amour floats in your ocean of ardour, ceasing to chase the creases of my soul encased in you? " I shall rise as tangerine smoke ~ flowing along paper-thin streaks, where thistles are thawed in the perfume of russet rings ~ and the velveteen blanket of florets covers the chocolate chimes... synchronizing in the syllables of a destiny that was never meant to be..."
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