2021-08-21 17:58:30
Its dark, its night, I'm sad and sky is decorated. My chest feels heavy though from my heart she, all of she evacuated. I'm night, dark and silent, she's a star, bright and beautiful. As the clouds would wrestle up, there so high, in the sky, if any, there would be, I feel such tension building in my chest. Its summer the night is hot and dry, but I can feel the rain down my eyes as i cry. Its dark, its night, I'm sad and sky is decorated. The purples of my wounds, aches, and my temple and whole skull. The sky is decorated by stars but still its too loony and dull. Resting with the unrest I search with my best, into the sky, a wind or anything which or as such, to fly my words of pain, of despair, of love, of care and pour them like a whisper into her ears. For in her memoirs I'm sitting here in agony, counting the stars in million, and she, I guess, she's slept in oblivion. I wish to hold her near to me in my arms but like a star, from me, she's so far. Its dark, its night, I'm sad and sky is decorated.
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