I'm in a habit of hiding my pearls
beneath the dark clouds-
like hail, waiting to pour out;
None can decipher,
'Cause no one can decode
the ember of a fallen Saint.

Wet as rain. Loud as thunder.

I'm in a habit of throwing away
the petals of roses into the flames,
until all that're left are thorns;
None can decipher,
'Cause no one can decode
what's behind the Masquerade;

Soft as clay. Hard as diamond.

I'm in a habit of creating a snowstorm
in the middle of the desert
or a frosbite under the scorching heat;
None can decipher
'Cause no one can decode
the riddles hidden in rhymes;

Freezing like Ice. Burning like Fire.
💙

A/N:
For the masked man named, "Charlie".