moonymistress

Winter Garden The perfect picture. You, the stone-faced madman that haunts the night. Me, your broken child. Hand in hand, blood to blood against the darkness, in each other and in ourselves Smoke is etched to the pitch black canvas of the sky Drawing a pattern that you will surely understand But that I will call nonsense and ignore I cut the last rose from our winter garden Soon we will retreat from this freezing hell Hide from the world again Only one more you say One last rose The last blood to be shed this winter I am not sure that I can hold you to that promise When we hide from the world and madness creeps clos