the beauty of the flames' enthralling glare a perfect sphere suspended in the air a blinding light ignites to wash away when all is dust, a shadow remains
In strokes of red, murder becomes art it's influence still felt from afar these blinking stars, in their evanescence burn their brightest just before the end
Mesmerized by the burning skies ensorcelled by destruction Pacified by the noose around our neck the perfect death.
Asleep or dead? Inside or outside of my head? Soothing sounds of torture so I might convalesce.
Captivating strangulation, erotic suffocation A contradiction designed for failure that executes it's saviour.