She asks me about my poems, the sentiments, and the echo of my heart.
The purple rain never left my closeness, the purple rain just stains my heart.
I've been turned into a dreamer, and those dying petals are just a fracture from my lost love, from my lost civilization.
Darling, I'm losing you, and all of my leaves were consumed by rage, hatred and doubt.
Please ask me about my poems, ask me again.