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a treeline blurs into watercolour red-violet, impressionist painting of tender rage, wind whispers an old jazz song over rolling hills, fever-bright soul shine forms crucifixion of her life, love has left flames in hopeless comparison to her own sun
she is a boundless storm of luminosity, enrapturing the lost and guiding them safe, catch a wave and take in the sweetness, something handcarved, woven from the very fabric of the stars, monsters pick and rip galaxies, shades of heaven rot their touch, she is bleeding on a pointed dagger, the sky's her stage, ecstasy grows like a disease, drinking cherry wine in the velvet night
drawn indelibly to the sky, heart-compass ticking home, magnetic north drawing aquila's slice through her heart, and she bleeds, she bleeds inhibitions and her mothers finest wines, trepidation and brown sugar, audience limbic system rocks against her lustre, song of a second heartbeat has provided the divine theremin-thrum of this final act, lining cigarettes like church congregation, nothing more than loves tragic melancholy she hums
she's sated sick on angel wings, drunk on a blurry abyss from glass bottle glory, pinpricks of her stars have been cradled by his darkness, wisps of clouds and bleeding moon loop threads of madness she shuts her eyes and all the world drops dead, earth's beauty is violence, abetting her own demise, blood in her reprise, a stardust angel has fallen
as icarus loved apollo; dangerously and with no bounds, the power of youth is on her mind, looking for a taste of real life, angel wing flutter and heartstring strum kiss like arson all the way through, rotting in a field of evergreen, the sun has been reached and it has fallen, flames kindle a crown upon her blonde hair, feet to the stars, moon-skulled, the audience applauds, throwing blood roses and snow lily to our lady stardust.
