night leads me desire, to make me feel alive. i am a vulnerable butterfly covered with intensity. i am invisible snow full of blaze. i can feel alive only at night. i can spread wings only at night. i can fall only at night. only for you. only for me.
Every time midnight comes, the sound of the countdown to the future resounds as the punishment to me who gave up on my life. Although I can’t imagine the future that I’m alive as a human, the piercing sound makes me continue breathing emptily.
Our Picturesque Silhouettes In The Scent Of Midnight. The Mixture Of My Cigarettes And Your Perfume Make The Mellow Sound For The Morning That May Erase Our Memory Like Vodka. Our Velvety Skins In The Shroud Of Midnight. I’m Smoking, In The Deepest Winter. You’re Sleeping, In The Most Vulnerable Destiny.
She draws abstract arts on the canvas that nobody can see. The ink that she uses is only white. The symbol of pureness. The sign of vanity. Her feelings are burning red on deep navy. But she draws abstract arts by using only white. She is pure. And, she is empty.