dont leave flowers on my grave

ii. a chamber of dreams

stepping lightly he visits her in the timeless chamber of dreams again, bound by elastic strings of what may be reality in otherworldly dimensions. a heavy cloak of darkness unravels itself above them [ she blinks ] he is gone and reappears. is he even here at all? starkly lit up by dying cinnamon spice candles [ she may just choke ], the chamber is left quiet, undisturbed. a representative of the peaceful chaos of limbo between heaven and hell, as it should be. but even magics will always fade with the painful grudge of time. the only beings to have set foot in this twisted realm of their own design being the two of them; seven feet, six feet, five feet apart, stand the apparition and the visitor who carrie himself with a haunting presence fabricated this way to shake the soul's tangible core. she bleeds, she burns. stoked fires of azul and pearl blossom upon her cratered skin of porcelain [ she may not wake up alive again ]. foolish, tenacious, the visitor is unheeding of her warning signs, nor the likely chance of combustion into satanic flames. to dust he will return, if he hasn't yet already. albeit she sheds scales of the moon as a second skin, she is the sun, he is icarus.