Swept

Hands held high.
You are the winter of my summer, the reason for these fireflies to come over.
The nauseous spell of the shimmery black sands, and the forested pearls.
I am the roots of all demonic events.
The shadow master of their slavery acts.
The last option of her last summer.
Oh, you're my drowning victim.
My final spectrum.
(Nobody knows your winter flakes as much as my cerebellum).