Sky is the canvas,
waiting just for a single color.
A pale January as the background
of a velvet dream, precious.
Child insomnia stands onto the rooftop
In a reverie, the curse of half-sleep.
When every pillow is made of marble,
every night is hanging timeless.
Memories of distant glances,
winter seas, colors ever seen.
Mad thoughts madly dancing,
within the vortex of disillusion...
In a reverie, the curse of not belonging.
If once it was for her, no more.
If once it was for resignation, no longer.
To fly, and fall headlong
tasting scarlet flavor.
A painter dyes the blue,
a marvelous picture.
bless this inspiration
that k**s the last doubt
turn the brush and paint
the inner part of mouth
Never thought would be this bitter,
the taste of God...