Nocturne veils inked with blood cherries juice.

Half-kissed black nightshades hidden in the woods.

Playing with hand grenades crafted from monkshood.

Letting them explode right before we bloom.

 

Walking in the forest but the soil is wet,

so, our feet are sinking and covered with dirt.

Pitcher full with liquor made from wringed tears.

Next thing you’ll remember is our sacred fears.

 

Carved my biggest wishes on a tree’s pale skin.

Lick the salted promises off my best dream.

Foxes steal the grapes hanging by your lips.

Lighting up an incense for our finest sins.

 

Sneak a peek at heavens where my eyes are held.

Blue-green iris crying while brown lies ahead.

All your fruits are rotten down to their core,

is that why you want me, to repair them with my own?