Deafheaven

Hindered by sober restlessness. Tubmitting to the amber crutch. the theme in my aching prose. fantasizing the sight of manhattan; that pour of a bitter red being that escapes a thin frame. the rebirth of mutual love. the slipping on gloves to lay tenderly.

"I'm dying."
- "Is it blissful?"
"It's like a dream."
- "I want to dream."