Disaster in bloom

She moves like a rumor through corridors of glass,
A myth dressed in velvet the moment can't outlast.
Her breath carves a silence that statues can't hold,
A sharp geometry of grace that time leaves cold.
She signs her name in vapor on a mirror's skin,
And every step erases the hollow within.

She's the beautiful hush that the night longs to keep,
A secret the shadows will silently weep.
So cold and composed, a disaster in bloom,
She turns every silence into a perfume.

Her name is a lyric the rain can't recall,
A statue of smoke in a collapsing hall.
She needs no redemption, no script and no worn;out stage,
Just the weight of her presence — a delicate, silent rage.
She folds the dusk around her like a warning made of lace,
And turns the ruined hour into a tender hiding place.

She's the beautiful hush that the night longs to keep,
A secret the shadows will silently weep.
So cold and composed, a disaster in bloom,
She turns every silence into a perfume.