Parisian Rain

A morning with an overbearing guilt,

yet my mind cannot be redeemed of its sins.

My frail soul is at last corrupted,

by my very name to your shadows I cling.

My heart bleeds like the Parisian rain,

never cared for the gloom to refrain.

Yet her unholy beauty stirs my thoughts,

 of your torture and my unending pain.

I wish to be slay by a seraphic blade,

so that my heart is cleansed of blood.

Who is this stranger with the demonic jade,

erupting from his benevolent mask?

Yet still I pray for tomorrow’s air,

where I shall be under your adoring flair.

Our souls are bound by heaven’s will,

thus I shall wait till my mortal lair.

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Published in: on 04/02/2017 at 10:22 AM  Leave a Comment  

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