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,

Do letters belong in the hands of the writers, or does your hand deserve to hold the writings. 


 Only lies are comforting in your wake. 


When my greed is so much I collect the flesh of others. 


Do you know what the afterlife is? It is a feeling when you die, if you feel you've been faithful, it's the things and feelings of the things you love. 


Follow until all is set in your wake for you. 


Follow those empty strings that kiss to be ignored. 


More easily will all whose eyes' have seen turn.


High libido and raining 80's candy.