Angelique

I write poetry sometimes

[salvatoreforroses]

In the face of others' success or pursuits akin to my own, there is no envy in my being , for my words are my own, my eyes are my own and for my art is my one and only.

[salvatoreforroses]

“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.” ― Edgar Allan Poe

[salvatoreforroses]

I don't think I'm the only one who thinks that such a book is so underrated and that almost nobody knows it and then they go to good reads and they know it in every household possible.

[salvatoreforroses]

A composer never dies while  the melodies of their existence still play, nor while the  amusement and sorrows stills in veins of  listeners, nor  when the vibrations are still assembled. Music has no deaths, Gods of it, are remembered through it,  from the everlastingness. As long as we continue to listen to voices, I still cling they will never be forgotten, I can sense them in my inexistent soul. Music is the infinite source of universal pleasure. Our bodies may fall apart but the essence music emits will never fade. Endlessness.

A. Salvatore

[salvatoreforroses]

Temporal Sense of Belonging I can’t comprehend how profoundly delicate I felt that era Walking through the woods The start of the primavera Pure emotions starting to decay Branches tears slowly recovering And I swear I’ve never felt this way God, I’ve sensed every cliché this day Oh joy, did I heal? Cause I’ve never been at this peace Did my ecstasy  finally become real? Tears trapped in my gland As my eyes felt ideal… Temporal sense of belonging, Moving through damp fog Through melodies, songs all in Deceptive smog… Inside my veins, diving deeper, Drops fall in mind Piano notes, mind healer I didn’t sense any blind Is the undergrowth evergreen? The esse breathe of one’s years

Angeligue Salvatore

[salvatoreforroses]

You had this desolated dust in the reflection of your eyes, which made your glance appear miserably exhausted from all the lives that you are not living, even though you wished you were. - She tried to look through her weak frame while she temporarily faded away, along with the hope that one day she completely will.

Angelique Salvatore