Dweller

I was born under a different kind of spell.
In a twisted fate, and a bitter reality.
Cut the sparkling cage of my ulna,
And the meteorite marks of my sternum.
The water lilies gave birth to my cerebellum.
Raised by the tigers in a pitch black Atlantis.
My vowels speak of spectrums of belladonna's breath, and cigarette smokes.
The crusty bouquet of roses, and my lies are buried deep in a sickening ashes.
The brightest luna is lighting my way up every single dusk.
(and her faint smile, burning the metal ground).
And I dwell in my constantly changing taroc pack within the illuminated hours.