I think I can paint this world for you now. From decadence and disorderly life to death and blank slates. Something I own, expressed dearfully to you as if I have always owned it. Perhaps remembered by no one in the end, but for now, maybe even just a glimpse of light from the murk and more, just to prove it can exist. even if it fades within the hour.

Sincerly,
       Rosier.

Dear Death,

I remember your black wings, I remember when we threw ourselves off a cliff, I remember when you pulled me from drowning. 


I remember feeling you loved me. I remember loving you back because of it. 


Now all I remember is that you arent here. 


I am alone. Do you know how hard that is? To be so endrowned in love you've pushed all sources of it out to try and enslave it. 


My home was where you were, now my house in the clouds doesn't kill me when I throw myself off of it. 


I have so many rooms in my house. Rooms of ivory rod and scarlet curtains, quartz statues of skeleton and sinew. Speakers of water that shake music into the air. 


One room a pair of wings. Now that I am older they are white and no longer attached to you. 


HAHA. A box oh what joy I've filled it with. swords, vails of blood, bright candies, the smell of great pine trees, music you can eat, your eyes when they glisten with emotion. 


Until Next Time