Where there is Majesty, there is corruption, and none shall grace such vicious nature as well as a debutante within her own imperfections..
Will you never cease to struggle, little red hair?
Pain is critical portion of life. It is breaths in which you desire they would cease, and light where the shadows would be a welcome reprieve. Pain is a grace, to which I would deliciously dance amidst the moonlight with, if only I could twist the fallacies of my own creations. If only I could sanction a delivery of what is buried..deep within the stirring passions of my darkest desires..
It is never far from the trailing tendrils of my mind. It is there. It is in every excruciating breath that escapes betwixt sullen smiles..and there, in every taut line of envious deception. When the sights of a touch so near, are so far, in the way they fall upon my mind. My flesh be damned.. it screams viciously, voraciously, seeking damnation and redemption in a the raking of fingers which have never been seen. It is madness. It is cruel. Is has turned me into a mere path, driven by arches lain bare in atonement…
There is nothing so delightfully, deliciously, unequally matched as the tattered chains upon a coordinated soul. A spirit that may never surface, but for the tangled webs of words.