dribb ling  grape juice. rust on my  palm, rust of my fingers pulverised  and putrefied by the sisyphian cycle of spinning  i am destined to

Blossoms called destiny, made of sorrow Or the will and desire one's mind portrays.

She was looking for a temple, one that she can call home. One day, she thought she had found it.

Orpheus would be known for his melodies and his melancholy. What the poets and the tales didn't carry through history was his rage.