(no subject)
Acts of futility will not fill voids. Fleeting, at best, is their comfort and your empty memory will soon be filled with another instance to regret. There is no romance in regret. Or sadness.
Afflictions are first treated by quarantine and remaining in filth only furthers contagion. When the sores grow so immense that no salve can seal them time will become a steadfast countdown to depletion of any remaining good.
A corpse made of vanity contains no more solace than a corpse made of headstrong movement towards the cusp of a pitfall.
Afflictions are first treated by quarantine and remaining in filth only furthers contagion. When the sores grow so immense that no salve can seal them time will become a steadfast countdown to depletion of any remaining good.
A corpse made of vanity contains no more solace than a corpse made of headstrong movement towards the cusp of a pitfall.