Bathe in painful succulence, as hastened decisions are pulled from the grime… and remain caked in blood and mud. Free thought is blessing and curse baptized in a fathom of betrayal. Dripping still from it’s dunk in these torrid waters, the mind is a terrible thing to loose. Running without care nor restriction, independent as the day it became aware. Following twisted paths and winding corridors, with walls built of bones and blood. Skeletons and demons alike hide within shadows made from hope, just waiting their turn to strike from the darkness and draw away this hopeful curtain. It fears the darkness, yet the mind cannot seem to stop perpetuating it. Shadows in the moonlight the cards read. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, sometimes it’s a god awful thing to use.
Zquils and Insomnia