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.