/lit/ - Literature

You, the lover dead, you hear sound the tocsin from your refuge underwater, under the blades of sea salt, wave your soul is stranded in the abyss. You loved, you were the king of a kingdom engulfed by the tears of a mermaid, who sings her sentence on the banks of the Seine, the parisian child lost in the abyss of loneliness black. Its cry sounds, broken on the reefs, polluted clouds of black soot, rust orangeade sunny depraved, severe tingling tin bubbling, golden trumpets, sea horses, morning white as the pearl silver, rainbow pearl decadent , watercolor firmament that blooms like a rose button, aurora borealis of the old continent, a flock of clouds riding merrily across the expanse of submerged infinitely dull swans swimming on the ocean cyan drawing.

Hey OP,
you have quite a style, maybe work on it a bit more, elude the essential, give us more of your bestial, and you might get it!