It got too heavy
The wind was breezy
I was outside
Thinking if I can abide
It wasn't a good or a bad thing Somewhat a poison or a cure
You're heart were beating obscure
And I hope I can get a hold of the picture
A picture of hatred
A picture of greed and detest
A picture of a deep well
So dark, where you can bark
You'd still be the peony that I'll pick
Till the december's frail eve
I hope I can loosen those airways
And stitch those scars of the yesterdays.
Bring me, the depths of your despair.
YOU ARE READING
Peonies bloomed in his garden
ActionDedicated to between maybe's and don'ts. friends, lovers, or nothing. (BOOK FINISHED)
