Saturday’s remarkable indifference ( Read more... )

Victim.

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I don't suppose I will ever know...

Check the fucking vital signs ( Read more... )

Close your eyes my fractured lover and bury your dreams beneath you breath. Sunshine from with in your mind leads contentment to its death...

The sting of solitude and its mortuary grace, finds its place in the context of my escape. A delighted old hag in her drunken- slaughtered- blather tickles her own fancy with the sound of her dry vocal chords in synonymous vibration. Your lamentations in the finest light, an outdated product you purchased from the Bourgeoisie factory (decayed ( Read more... )

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Lamentations of the Queen of Spades ( Read more... )

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