I long await the day that a woman could see the tenderness of my heart. The tears that pour out from my mouth. But at the same time, I have no hope nor desire to be seen. And I'm not sure why. I feel as if the desire in itself is but childish longing.

I do not want to play the deceptive game of courtship, I just want to be seen...

The rose petals of my heart, long plucked from the stem... I watch them sail endlessly towards horizons never yet traveled. I do believe they have drowned to the endless sea of my sorrows and pains in these long nights. But those sorrows are sweet to me, the pain is akin to a woman's deep embrace at times. In my music, you can hear the longing, the tears that are silent. I shed them not, but they are written upon my soul.


I see sometimes in my trances a distant soul that sits by the riverbank, playing his old rusted guitar. A voice not un-like his own that doesn't belong to him, singing in ancient tongues, detailing what is written upon the unseen scrolls.T he hidden threads that lie betwixt reality and actuality.