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The shadow of a crimson curve, is the dream I have of you, the rose once lay upon the pillow now falls broken to the floor, as in each other’s arms we fight a glorious struggle, virtue the rags that make me love you too as the skin blow my lips is yours so hot and more, the look of fire in your eyes is all I want from you.

the dream continues, the rose remains, dies and gathers dust, but the love is ever present, suppressed by the sophistication of lust

Fantasies so full of you still even now, no obsession, just that you were good in the twilight hours – we both knew, we both understood. A door was opened I will not close, for that would do my honour shame, for a spark was lit in those moments, that even now burns at the mention of your name. That causes me to smile, to think and dream some more, of roses in the winter, and a light forever to adore.

the shadow is a crimson curve, the lips that I once kissed, a memory forever cherished … the rain falls down like mist, and they gather and they linger, those lovers to my arms whose lips I did once kiss.

The bullet comes as sudden and the knife rips through the heart, is this a beginning or and ending? To what end will be my part?

All around me are familiar faces….