I think I can paint this world for you now. From decadence and disorderly life to death and blank slates. Something I own, expressed dearfully to you as if I have always owned it. Perhaps remembered by no one in the end, but for now, maybe even just a glimpse of light from the murk and more, just to prove it can exist. even if it fades within the hour.

Sincerly,
       Rosier.

Dear Death,

Make it a good one. Upon this sequence of yours never forget any pain more then an discomfort. HA. Such is the foolhardiness of my mind I pay none to happiness. It is of no worth to me if not backed by pain, I do say throw life away and live in pain, none have done so well save for love. 


Cut love to scar and never heal, cut to remember, cut deep enough blood will not appear, cut crosses and sketches and all manner of markings inside and outside of your flesh. 


Slit at their throats and see who then still trusts you. 


Slash and hack at the ones that trust you the most, do not let them drown from your fury.


More to Me in Pieces and Empty