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Caramelized Nights
Vanilla skies weren't my thing
until the moon lit its own self
down to cinders, every fraternal footstep going back to the roads of its motherly sole, the time where the skies hold the moon in its woven palms, to which every clouds i teach to cry has now indulged itself in it's own color of emotions; gray, the color of past bruises they once gained after chasing werewolves.
© Girl in gray~
until the moon lit its own self
down to cinders, every fraternal footstep going back to the roads of its motherly sole, the time where the skies hold the moon in its woven palms, to which every clouds i teach to cry has now indulged itself in it's own color of emotions; gray, the color of past bruises they once gained after chasing werewolves.
© Girl in gray~
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