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Author of 72 Stories |
"I am the Lonely Sculptor"
Work: Edward Scissorhands"Everything you touch you destroy!"
Was he right, my love?
Is that truly all I am?
And now I am alone once more
In a blooming mansion of decay
This is the way it should be
But do you remember, my dearest?
You asked me to hold you
I told you, "I can't."
But to hold you was bliss, my golden angel
Your body against mine, oblivious to the danger
I could have stood there forever
Till we rusted and rotted into skeletal lovers
But it seems solitude is my fate
But you I shall treasure, you I shall honor
In glittering, shimmering statues of my unshed frozen tears
Pearly frigid memories of simple joys so long ago
My darling wintry angel,
Remember me in the snow.