I'm too full of a fool in love;
till death do us depart, love you to death,
There's a coffin built for two — some of me, some of you.
Why cry like an ocean,
when your favorite color is blue?

When the sky dons its robes of indigo I slip into a tranquil reverie,
where shadows lengthen and soften,
and mirrors hold whispers
of ancient stories. A gentle breeze dances
through the forest like secrets,
a lullaby for my weary soul,
a gentle reminder that even in stillness
there is movement — a world in transition.
As I stand on the threshold
of day and night, I remember
the fleeting moments
of my life past by
and embrace the twilight.

I am the pretty thing that lives under your house. You left me there to rot, to be forgotten
like a flower that's never been watered and withers.
So how ironic must it be
to see a single rose bloom from my grave?

I am the pretty thing that stands next to your bed,
watching your chest rise and fall.
I bend down to whisper in your ear
and though you may have taken my voice,
the air coils and delivers my message.
Standing, I withdraw to the shadows.

I am the pretty thing whose face suddenly appears
in the dark space of your twisted mind
where you thought you buried me for good.
Gasping for breath, you wake up drenched in sweat.
You wonder if you're being irrational or going crazy.

I am the pretty thing that came back.
How lovely it is to make you insane!
You look beautiful in that straight jacket,
surrounded by alabaster walls with no windows.
It's only when you’re finally captured that you drop all pretense,
professing that it’s my blood that is forever stained on your hands.

I am now the pretty thing with a dagger in my smile.

Love, like petals of a blooming flower,
Roses of rubies, lilies of pearl.
A skin as though of jasmine
that August evening…was it August?

I created you in a hazy vision
when my mind was drunk with sleep -
Are you a dreamer too?

Blood is the only story I can tell. For a fragile and damaged brain gives no cure,
and either chooses chaos or new birth.
My soul was the only currency I could sell.

Now I am empty and unleash the monster within.

So, deeply, I fell in love with slashes of red.
I gave no mind to life or death and thus
laid my wrath to carnage, sinning again and again.
And by my mirth, released the hungry wolves.

I was exulted at the sight of them.

After, I traveled to the brink of Hell’s chasm.
Staring into the pit black as obsidian, I jumped.
Torment and misery had been my only companions
and in the face of great heretics, I was welcomed home.

I was born from sin and so stained from the beginning.