Part 1

The methods with which we synchronise our minds revolve around and expanding Vitriolic molecule We sit and speak of a certain earthy melancholia that swirls like silver smoke And falls throug the Incandescent air. As the evening creeps in and a glow swims through the Dissolving patterns of our Thoughts, a lonely sound could be heard on the threshold of momentary shadows "I am the voice of melancholy that gathers your stars and burns them at your Portal The quiver that slides through your dreams to deposit leaden despair" The morning drops slowly by our sides we pause to breath the scent of decay. Revolving patterns slip their laconic focus through the cracks we ar lost.