…life trying to piece together who I believe I am, all while pretending I have it figured out. I haven’t a shred of an idea.

Word vomit covers the floors and surfaces, splashing across in random directions. I seek patten in all the madness hoping to find organized chaos. Lingering shadows hover over my shoulder with twisted grins watching my every move.

Perpetual nausea in the pit of my stomach leaves a lasting unease to pair with the chest pressure restricting airflow. Only in deep breaths does…

Ancient the sting of fiends with dried wings

These being's death sound like rings

Ain't it fresh when breaths sing?

Faded stress from great things

Slayed fits suited for….

... A limitless stride forward, like tunnel vision but more literal, lost but direct. Skin crawls at the cost with regret. A tinge of rotted flesh lingers. Smells fresh of death to the...

Blade in hand

Under my command

A madman, a badman, a mad plan

Still nerves curve cuss words

Fuck truth

Hurts to know…