He waited... waited long enough to see that a promise's destiny, in a twist that some people may call fate, is sometimes doomed right from the start. I mean, what are the odds that it will bear fruit in the middle of winter?

Upon a blue moon
...rare
Peaceful, calm
and
empty
breathless like a dagger
She was there
longing...

The ground was brittle that night. So brittle, he thought it would break at the wrong take of a breath. He stared at a thought... Venturing out into the night never really pleased him, especially when alone. It's not about the dark or fear or something else, but the feeling of solitude haunts him...

Dreams...
she embraced
Solace
in her veins and her heart
blinded
as it burned the night
Illlusions made her
believe...

But perhaps... perhaps they were right. The howling comes first before the nightmare. He looked on the ground with a trace of a distinct emotion, that often leads to sorrow, and thought he should have not left in the first place... And now that the howling stopped, he wonders what nightmare stands before him...

Underneath a blue
moon... rare
She smiled and she
lied
and thought it was
peaceful and calm
She undressed and
slit her throat...

...We are
throwing stones at the bush
hoping it would
burn
Hoping
for a miracle in the flesh
And we cry in despair and
we get angry
and we get
tired
but restless
So we drop on our knees
to worship the dirt
feeding on madness
...Mirrors to shatter
so as bridges to burn
so we can blame
and dream and
escape
and act like
fools...