I still cannot find a way to get out of this dark grey bed stuck in my inverted dream. My ****** smells of knives that slashed wrists . The blade sings to me "The wounds they still drip red "
The burning pain inside ,have become blisters on my skin .
I am lost in the woods where dead trees does not tolerate any fragility of body or mind . I am scared to unfold my wrist in the darkness .The cold, brisk air invades my lungs, I exhale, my breath visible. I step over fallen branches and tugged by thorny vines. In swirling clouds of silver lace .The disk of Luna lies concealed
Lights flickering underneath mystic sky, i will reveal underneath her misty light