Looking up, to the crimson moon.
Reminds me of my open wounds.
Brighter stars up on dark skies,
Beckon to my dark sides.
The flower of hope starts to wither,
I find myself at the bottom of this river.
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 2:19 PM UTC
Looking up, to the crimson moon.
Reminds me of my open wounds.
Brighter stars up on dark skies,
Beckon to my dark sides.
The flower of hope starts to wither,
I find myself at the bottom of this river.