I will bow,
Toward the broken grass of my quintessence .
There, mighty myriads leave their trail .
Trace .
Scent .
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.
. my personal, articulate, loyal and virulent thorn .
worthy of defilement
before the dove hit the tip of the bloodied and shattered soul of . . .
septicity
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apparently it's not a virus .
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