They lay upon his canvas, from sight never to vanish. Some burnt, some written into his flesh, as he endured them afresh. But they were in vain, he took pleasure within pain. His eternal self destruction, only feeding his corruption. Destroying his mortal shell, until some day he'll join the ranks of hell.
YOU ARE READING
Random poetry, philosophy and thoughts.
RastgelePoetry, philosophy and such coming to mind. Although be warned this book does prospect many things you may not feel comfortable with, reading at your discretion.
