A mud-brunette haired woman still beneath ocher skies is undeniably under the enchantment of a man's demise.
His voice weary yet comparable to thunder crashing when the sound waves dig into her ears and bang against the inside of her head.
A fallen Prince of Darkness is the man who would sew a slight patch onto her heart. Unknown to be a conniver when distressed, culprit of the fall-apart.
Demented knowledge correlates amongst hardened truth deemed to be full of light now lay empty, never-ending quest between the forgotten and the tyranny.
The woman with a channel of thought strategic in her efforts to place out of the normal forget-me-nots.