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Description
The moon as pale as death,
Too much to carry on one’s shoulder,
I’d get you the moon
If I could only reach.
Demise is much closer,
Would you rather that?
Colour is nothing of beauty
Compared to sweet reality.

Broken glass;
I’m sick of treading on.
Drowning fantasies;
I’m sick of salt water.
Crushed butterflies;
I’m sick of all the fluttering.
Onmyou dolls;
I’m sick of papercuts.

I’ve traced the intricate patterns of your scars
Down and up your body
With my bloodstained fingertips.
The moon can do you nothing,
Can’t save you from this intoxication.
Your crystal eyes
To match your aura.
Crying Still.
My Crystal.