Swimming through the dark of the curious night, a white face crawls through seas of scarlet; crossing through fields of sullen flowers that never bloom. The face stands with twisted petals wrapping his body, bearing his gleaming chest unto the world. The eyes of this man are barren, lit by only the moon.

Emerald teardrops cling to his ebony hair, washing away sins of past. His rough, pale hands grip a necklace, glistening azure in what little light is still blazing mercifully down from the heavens.

The marble face gazes to the sea we call the stars. Where ships of angels and demons sail to unending horizons. Angels of ivory that dance across midnight, releasing a tail of glittering light. Demons of fire, burning the sky with colors of waters, fires, earths, and airs.He'd curse them if he could, blame them for all the pain.

Floating aromas steal through air, misting those who walk below them. Looking up, his face barely visible, a tear forms in his menacing eyes. The colors are apart of him, swirling around him in a whirlwind.

The cold wind quickens his heart, pushing his spirit upward. The gale evokes his energy, he stretches his arms skyward, calling for endowment. His raven hair blows ferociously behind him.

The sweeping colors storm faster and faster, twisting with a dizzying grace. Faster and faster they surge; energy gathers, there is too much pressure. Explosions erupt, sparks of sapphire, emerald, and ruby burst, surrounding in scorching flames The brilliance erupts, lightning intrudes into his eyes.

A deadly outcry of terror and suffering echo in the void. In the aurora mists his body glows, fluorescent crimson, azure, and verdant urge through, flowing in his veins; visiable through the paleness of his skin.

The mists depart, leaving him, alone. His lifeless body crumples to the ground. He lays encircled by thorns and flowers, the angels and deamons of earth. His eyes gaze into the obscurity, colored glass looking into thousands of raindrops.

The flowers are withering, his eyes are sullen, his lips blue from the cold. The shield of flowers blow to and fro, but shroud him. His hair is limp, strewn about among the dirt.

Alone in the vast eternity he lays, the colors live on in him, frozen in the river that had once flowed. Only the darkness prevails, the colors begin to fade, as the flowers. All the light departs, and all is expired.