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I love you like a rotten dog, I love you like my canines are falling out of my gums. Like a monster, like a beast. Like something not worth loving back.
BORN TO DIE [2023]
It's bleak and blank. Wall seperating two sides. And trust, you don't want to be on the other side.
In the heart of excess, where opulence intertwines with gilded decadence, lies the Capitol—a kaleidoscope of extravagance painted on the canvas of Panem's despair.
Adorned in hues that defy nature's palette, the Capitol's citizens parade through streets paved with the echoes of opulent laughter, masked by a veneer of artificial glee. Their flamboyant attire, a tapestry of capricious whims, weaves a tale of ostentation against the backdrop of the districts' muted struggle.
Within the Capitol's grandeur, the scent of excess wafts through the air, an intoxicating perfume of indulgence that mingles with the hungered desperation of the districts. The Capitol's power, entwines itself around the tributes, each step leading them closer to the precipice of both glory and demise.
In the Capitol's grand arenas, where the Games are both spectacle and sport, the thirst for entertainment becomes a feast upon the tributes' anguish. It's greedy. It is a darkness born of control, a puppet master's strings pulling at the fate of Panem's desperate souls.
