The Canvas I Murmur Upon

I found you, drifting in shadows, a solitude adorned. Your voice a poisoned melody, both sweet and vile. Each word sparks fires I should not stoke.

Wrapped in your murmurs, the canvas of my mind burns bright—beneficial, disastrous; music and silence entwined.

These reflections dance like autumn leaves around the vacant touch of forgotten dreams.

Where do they scatter? Perhaps they seek:
The Echoes
Mistral Assemblage