She dances, sings, sways toward the movement of the wind silent in efforts of reaching for the clouds. Hues of wonderful branches arise from the earth to present a walking portray of lively whispers. Amused at the sight of hands locked, a walk begins.
Dead lady in the arms of lad within cemetery walks of life. Tears greatly emerge to distort the valley of mirrors. Walking, crying, there be a day to repeat itself while sorrow slowly consumes him.
Uprooting creature voyage further toward the claim of loud waters emerging. Profound wind amuse these senses accordingly. Beautiful witness proclaim happiness in these walking branches.
Walking creatures trying to survive within fractured realms of Earth. The cause of struggle, but the triumphant succeed in damages lifted, then repeated.
He is on the street walking... What is his name? I don't know. He is holding flowers and a black umbrella. Where is he going? I'm not quite sure. Maybe to somebody or maybe to somewhere. Made with Oil Pastels
That one time I thought it would be a good idea to coat my lips with black ink and kiss the paper. Regretted it for the next 3 hours walking about feeling like a goth.
