Nocturnal spirits ablaze with the
Mark of the weary. Encased souls,
Comforted by the sounds of her exhales
She reaches for oblivion with outstretched arms
Her minor catastrophes delineate the obvious
But what of love?
Its cold and calculated lies have no place in the night
She thinks
The sparks of the firefly, dance in the firmaments
Ripples of thought plunder the silence of the darkness
She wants to jump in the abyss
A baptism of fire
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Nocturnal spirits ablaze with the
Mark of the weary. Encased souls,
Comforted by the sounds of her exhales
She reaches for oblivion with outstretched arms
Her minor catastrophes delineate the obvious
But what of love?
Its cold and calculated lies have no place in the night
She thinks
The sparks of the firefly, dance in the firmaments
Ripples of thought plunder the silence of the darkness
She wants to jump in the abyss
A baptism of fire
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