: About Me

She Is Called To Her By strong intuition I am called Into the woods at night To find her Laying on the forest floor The soft moonlight is exposing her Like a spotlight through the branches While wind sweeps rolling leaves across her She lies limp With eyes closed Her fair-skinned face made even more pale, Yet she is still so beautiful Her lips are painted red from her blood I carefully brush the dirt from her face And brush aside the twigs from her messy hair I lean over to gently kiss her lips Her once-fanciest black dress is left mangled The one that holds many of our memories I kiss her...