under what fake names I must use?
How long I must wait until I can certain that things is under control of my expectations?
Too long – I don't remember what kind of smile I buried back behind the door I tightly hold into?
How many opportunities I must wait and lost, until I can finally be certain it was real and not just a nightmares of ethereal fate?
Then, dear angel.
This sinner of yours dawling a little bit too long in it's own grave.
Burry me with the tears of storm I put into my own world–reminds me again of the breathless suffocated cold night I must save.
Save what I must savior, dear angel?
Aren't we all tired from such hollow words and smiles?
All of that sweat you pour into your ink of tears–
That you gnawed on the red night.
Only to saw a vacant mask– an ugly vessel of destiny where fate disdain us.
The sorrow and woe is etched into our breath, slowly following our steps into our last bed–grave of rotten flowers.
We awaits thou to long, thou shalt not forbid us to be freed from the strings of fate.
Yet we must hold into the cold night where blood raising like a rain inside the veins of raining sorrow,
keen not dear sinner–We're the same under the purgatory eyes of red moonlight–For the ominous highness to gaze upon the oblivion end, In the end we're the same little starry dust with intact memories of joy.
The massacre of such vacant joy from the highness of red sorrows, it was lonely from the start.. isn't it?
The prophecy of sinner–
"For Thou who bleed the deformity of sorrow stars, Raise Thou glass– saw the foreshore of dancing stars–that was the end of our sins."
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 11:34 PM UTC
under what fake names I must use?
How long I must wait until I can certain that things is under control of my expectations?
Too long – I don't remember what kind of smile I buried back behind the door I tightly hold into?
How many opportunities I must wait and lost, until I can finally be certain it was real and not just a nightmares of ethereal fate?
Then, dear angel.
This sinner of yours dawling a little bit too long in it's own grave.
Burry me with the tears of storm I put into my own world–reminds me again of the breathless suffocated cold night I must save.
Save what I must savior, dear angel?
Aren't we all tired from such hollow words and smiles?
All of that sweat you pour into your ink of tears–
That you gnawed on the red night.
Only to saw a vacant mask– an ugly vessel of destiny where fate disdain us.
The sorrow and woe is etched into our breath, slowly following our steps into our last bed–grave of rotten flowers.
We awaits thou to long, thou shalt not forbid us to be freed from the strings of fate.
Yet we must hold into the cold night where blood raising like a rain inside the veins of raining sorrow,
keen not dear sinner–We're the same under the purgatory eyes of red moonlight–For the ominous highness to gaze upon the oblivion end, In the end we're the same little starry dust with intact memories of joy.
The massacre of such vacant joy from the highness of red sorrows, it was lonely from the start.. isn't it?
The prophecy of sinner–
"For Thou who bleed the deformity of sorrow stars, Raise Thou glass– saw the foreshore of dancing stars–that was the end of our sins."
Late night reflection.
