Scarlet Scorn Ingest the sweetest aroma, And lick the bitten red, A dizzy circumvention, Inebriates my head.
Never Was The act of consummation floats still as a glistening lake, A soft unrequited ambience plays inside the eyes of grace, In turn this masquerade will seek to show its coveted disguise. A scripture of tragedy holds hands with our fate, Swirl the excitement, pleasure and spark, the sentiment, perplexity and arrow in your heart, One day will you know?
The Rambling Of An Indecisive, Er, Soul? The decision to start writing this wasn't hard, What to write was done blindly, And although I love to devote my heart to something it's never lasting, A desire to indulge a beautiful craft, to show artifice and passion. These things do not last, I have to come to the assumption, or is it presumption that a momentum of genious remains unpredictable, spontaneous, unnervingly chooses to dominate and flutter away. Maybe I should live within the love of my craft, and only take pleasure in the moments of ingenuity offered to me.
Sunshine The shadow proves the sunshine.
