PROSAIC PERCEPTIONS FLOOD THE TRENCHES THAT ARE HALF-WAY FULL WITH COWARDICE DEFILEMENT IS INEVITABLE AS YOU ARE SUSTAINED WITH SUCH A MESS WHERE'S MY FUCKING HAND PUMP?
take satisfaction in the mask's virginal visage when the black hearted arrows of cupid's bow flak out charred friendships will be the only remains enjoy choking down the ashes of a purchased soul love kills when it dies