Cradle the scabrous murrhine well, will I .
Scintillate the palest muave, will my molten eyes .
But pity, not my pith . nor my gist .
Crippled to nothingness .
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i lay on the lea of hope as the brazen summer rain washes the sanguinary and still scent of a passing winter's lash where a million stars will drop in awe of the unsullied and undefiled, pure and undefined, lucid, bright and virginal, for beyond
is this really black, that runs through these veins and splatters unto you ?????
- . pheroxia .
- .I. - .am allergic to love. .am addicted to pain, and thoughts of it. .unconsciously inflict agony. .hail tribulation. .indulge my temptations. .am obsessed with the word ether. .am still missing the white thing. .am still wandering. .am still, There.
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