privatedns
the touch of hands, black ad stained. A quick graze over bruised skin, a breathless sigh, the buck of hips, a jolt of heart. She comes undone at the touch of moonlight softness and nothing is more beautiful.
A signal to the broken man. hold your flames up high, shed your tears like gold dust all over these graves, bless this nation with your hollow tongue. This is a stream of conscious doom, the tombstone calling to no mans land. Tonight free men run wild with their ambition and it is about damn time we let them.
There is an abudant amount of heartache that riddles these bones. They shake the oh so empty quiet, they carve track marks out of good men, they exist like that. Heartache is often more disease than we anticipate.
The world isn't ready for war. Divinely, Primely, and promptly awaiting with a dark stained wine in a challace glass. This is gods wish, but how can we as humans fufill it?
Scarlet heartshed that spreads itself over the cashmere sunlight. A violet radiation, almost like a gunshot that pops smoke, the color violet spreads itself across streetlights. The color violet is almost a home.
angels dont exist in this world
they told me angels are of god
that angels will protect me
but angels, the ones I've met
have black wings
and stone cold looks
when you love the angels I've met
you wont even notice youre gone