poem

When your world turns yellow, when your clouds rain, when you'll feel colder, I'll be gone.
When you'll feel melancholic, when you'll take your first sip of coffee in the morning, I'll be long gone.
The dreadful hours will pass, our hearts will grow cold, our souls will lose themselves in the autumn, in the crunchy leaves, in the slow wind, under the hanging clouds, becoming one.
You'll walk by like a ghost.
I won't follow you.
I'll follow your hollow, I'll follow the bloody flowers you stepped on.
When you'll be lost, my emptiness will find you.
Be torn, be withered, man.
Stay one with the agony, stay one with me.

Perished. 

I'll hear the echo of your pulse, I'll hear your demons screaming.
I'll be already dead. My limits will be bordered with dark chalk, in my grave, that is deep within my heart, where you belong.

Search for my soul in these ivory sands of pain and lust.

Couldn't we fast forward through this thunder?
Couldn't you wash the muddy waters in your eyes?

You could pierce your soul with my memories.
Leave the scars I did with my broken glass.

This thunder sounds like a war in the sky, where the war gods cry.
And it will rain.
It will create waves of sorrow and tears, and they'll take me with them.
I'll lose the fight with each wave, because of the freedom I'll start to crave.
But there will be no hope, no help, just summoning what is dead and left inside, to battle the tide.

And so I'll pour myself on to this earth and a single wave will crumble.
The tides will settle, the wind will be gone.
Only my sinful soul will remain (in)sane.
And it will be over like a bad dream and you'll be sober.
It will be over.

tor..n and withered mantor

Emptiness

Emptiness

Emptiness

Emptiness

Emptiness