my worst day. infinitely.






its all a facade.
results of the devil's thoughts.
the lonely walk to the gates of hell,
giving no resistance to the cold grip of the reaper.
feeble attempts to set the Iron Hog going
just barely into the Discovery Age
where most of the land is dark, black in nothingness,
just like the heart in me.


cold and icy.
'nobody' defines me.





scissors, anyone?