The choking screams in my head, supressed by the drowning music of my life. I writhe with the pain of lonliness, alone. When all's striped away all that remains is the fact that I'm alone. Alone with the burning pain deep in my cold black heart.
My words my art, images of vividness drawn by spindled phrases. There is nothing left but the words I chose. Ones chose of sublime care, ones that are all that I am, the ones to cast away the doubt the pain and all the ails me. In the end, all there is are words, all that will be left of me. Words.
 Crimson Crucifixion · Mon Aug 21, 2006 @ 02:12am · 0 Comments |
