A Cold Beauty Painted Without My Heart

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Angel Of Virtue, Thou Art Blessed With Two Fretful Eyes Like Scattered Stars Melting Against A Slaughtered Sky. I Have Lost Count Of How Many Moons Have Shined Divine In Your Absence. A Thousand Crying Voices Drop Their Long Sleep Upon Me. I Wake To A Dream Of Universal Melancholy And Grotesque Enigmas, Hallowed And Shameful. My Blasphemous Birth Temporary Upon Withered Lips. Your Delicate Silvery Hands And Glassy Fingers Like Trembling Leaves Numb My Slumber.