I spill blood with ink on the paper. There's a voice in my head that speaks to me. Some say it's madness, some say it's overthinking. But I listen to it, and pen it down. People call it poetry.
I wondered sitting under the night sky, How would it be, if I could fly high, I'll get closer to ... I wondered sitting under the night sky, How would it be, if I could fly high, ...
I'm the inner you, not the one you fake. I'm the inner you, not the one you fake.
She was created in destruction. Born in the pits of ashes. Her wings were withered by destiny, F... She was created in destruction. Born in the pits of ashes. Her wings were wit...
Imperfection Imperfection