Artwork through her

The walls are closing in and nothing appears to be shrinking. I have decided that when they crush me into sludge peace will be ugly yet resolute. Immense annoyance towards three parties continues in earnest. The menagerie has yet to falter whereas the allure has left the ball room long ago. Perhaps a taste of finality towards one of the hosts will cause cessation of the danse macabre.

Into the embrace of music, my only crutch to lean upon.

Persistent chatter from the gaggle of ghoulish voices in my mind keeps sanity terrified enough to stay for now. I wonder how anemic blood tastes? Gore has always fascinated me. Morbid desires bubble behind my hatter tinged eyes such as making a bloody snow angel. Perhaps a family of them. I bet that in hell they carve up the damned like jack-o-lanterns, complete with kidneys for eyes and spilled intestine as teeth.

Into a sense of foreboding I shall go, dark path, broken background.

Alienate myself just to prove an honest hatred laced with misery for those who would only wish to comfort this burning brow. It makes perfect sense to someone who has lost their humanity and replaced it with a vending machine. The fever burns away another year or two. Twisting my hands through sweat stained blankets covered in death, decay, deceit.

Into her mind the madman goes, literally, sawbones in training you see.