@Jackson_Volk The phantom wolf, a ragged breath, A jagged question, mocking death: Who am I? Si-adotchi's scream, a ripping sound, Echoes the depths where hope is drowned. Mirror of obsidian, rose of dread, A sun devoured, forever bled. Weep for my beauty, a twisted gleam, Weep for my agony, a waking dream. Half-scrawled whispers, love's dying gasp, Carried by winds, a serpent's clasp. Let the tears fall, a poisoned stream, Love me to kill me, a desperate scheme.
Roses are black, a funerary shroud, So too my heart, forever bowed. My morning coffee, a bitter stain, A chilling comfort, easing pain. Ashes still drift from charred, forgotten pages, Of tales we wove through darkening ages. Zoloft, my torment, where do you linger? A cold, dead absence, on my finger.
Zoloft, a corpse; a sly fox fed, Its pen bleeding secrets, then it too bled. Now a wolf claims the vacant throne, Jackson howls for a shadow, for a girl he calls 'Killer,' alone. But I, with my hair like twilight's bruise, My neko spirit, I cannot lose... Call me the broken, call me the lie, Call me a hater, let our love die. Whisper my name, my dear Zoloft, Lost in the forever, in silence soft. For the stars themselves will shatter and fall, When the cherry blossoms mock the werewolf's call. And that, my dear, is the final, agonizing thrall.
