Buried alive behind enemy lines.
Your bitter-sweet words spread pestilence, oozing from every orifice. I contradict my every thought when i say to myself that its love. I want to take my nails, jagged and half black worn to the cuticles. Make use of them and make your pale skin turn scarlet and beautiful. Seeing your decay would put a smile upon my face. Who says the quickest way is the best way to go? Ill fill you with liquor and pretty white lies so i can pry open your rib cage and see the demise. Hearing the tendons sever and the bones crack and splinter i wonder if you were ever so beautiful. All parts of my mind shrink and become less when the section for revenge its saturated. Not even the most harmonic symphony could steal that masterpiece from me. The work of art is when you bleed, the symphony is the angels screams.