VermilionMasquerade

Beauty is an uncut diamond- rough around the edges, imperfect; it is the high, cold, unforgiving voice of winter, it is the watery light that seeps through the dirty windowpanes of an empty hall. There is a sort of music that is a cacophony of voices like a roaring tide, composed of (not angels, but) a thousand men and women from all walks of life standing anonymous on the dusty stage with its ghostlike audience. It is the sort of glorious and powerful multitude that brings your knees to the floor and tears to your eyes, the burning harshness of the desert sandstorms that strip the skin and life from mortals and settle back into a huge nothi

I spent so long too long writing and deleting the product of superficial wanderings Vaguely impressive, but didn't frame you- only what I wanted an overseas friend to be written like. There's something funny about you odd, toss-off and retro-modern dipped into a swirly color with virtually no strain of action and called... masterpiece. I tried so hard To piece together Every precious little scrap, shred of information About you But it gives me the wrong picture And I know its wrong because It can’t  possibly  fit You, else you’d be swept away By the popular groups. So it’s an illegible code I know crac