This syndrome I carry,
Seraphic, a butterfly in cocoon
churlish eyesight, colliding with your wounds.
I will sew your pain
Believe me, for I am the traveller of scars,
I will kiss your moonlit tears
and the paths it travelled,
I am an archaic smell of vintage champagne.
I shall regenerate always,
I shall not die,
and when I do, I shall with you.
©My Valiant Soul