The birds of beauty beat themselves to death
Against the citadel walls of hate
Aphrodite swirl's in her cadaverous beaux's arms
In the timeless waltz of loneliness
Its taste is bitter ash
Its stench is putrid
Its sound is an aching drone
Its touch is pain
yes this is for the sad ones.
yes this is for the sad ones who already expressed their sadness in different forms, and now thier xpression seeks mercy for orginality and substance instead of these stark ever ending repetitive circles.
ghost hands, nice touch to complete...