Is it cold in here Or is that just me? Is it the ice from my heart Spreading down my limbs? Or it is the chill of your breath As you talk to the room? I am too caught up in your fantasy, I forget how to truly be me.
No sun, no light, no gold- No colour except black And the unclouded mould Of sky; plain, thin, old, Marbled with glassy droplets; Crystals unfold, But I remain empty, transparent, Nothing, so cold, My life a soul already sold.
‘You think it’s real, then?’ She interrupted, not really listening to his train of thought. ‘Heaven?’ ‘I take it you don’t.’ ‘I want to… ‘ she mumbled. ‘What’s stopping you?’ ‘The devil told me not to.’ She looked down, ruby wet stains leaking across her sleeves, glinting in the moonlight, droplets pattering onto sacred ground like…
Cold peace, as white as snow, A calm sadness left to grow. Empty innocence, Innocent emptiness. Kept warm by cowardliness, Left to pass through ebony death.