CrypticMourning

Optimism Cataclysm In time, there is something criminal. Out of time, there is nothing critical. So imagine your own displacement when you can no longer breathe. Imagine the engine of a spitfire crashing into your brain. Something so simple and something so crazy burning it's way through the sky. But at night, the visions come alive. The people "comatisize" while the apparitions, they strive. Nothing so beautiful can haunt the living. Nothing so broken hearted can kill the dead. So imagine then, when you can't sleep, the visions inside, something wakes you up in the middle of the night. But your ghosts won't speak They fear t

The Engine of a Spitfire pt. II (The Faithless Kind) Where am I? For the life of me I couldn't tell you where. Where did I go? My rights and lefts are straight behind me. This life and death has yet to find me... You come through, an equation of nine. Your cynically sixteen and dangerously twenty-five. But when you're all that's left times willl change. I will change and the fiends will come along. Several years will pass, Ninety-nine to be exact. And what then? What happens to my family? My cocaine children are all that I am No queens in white to darken my light. My children are with whom I stand ...if you haven't

"The Engine of a Spitfire" pt. I (Black Roses) Where do you go wrong when you have no where else to go? We speak in touches in blushes of perfume kisses. We touch in looks of vanity through the mirror of time. When the death knell has rung and we've all gone home, the light comes through and reflects back into a broken heart. Speak to me, my rose. Tattoo my skin with promises and pierce eyes when you leave me. There is so much to be said when sad songs leave you dead I have changed You have changed Speak to me my rose Are you here for me? And have you come back for a last chance? Speak to me, my death Hair, black as n