Shorn of apocryphal pride, the locks falls predicting strife. Cranium. Exposed, denial of aesthetic. Push it a little farther. All of this burnt to. Ashes, all of this torn to rags. I don't know what the fuck have I become?.
Smothered under your affection. Solitude an acquisition. Symbiosis turned parasitic. Now I'm starting to regret this. . Dying to be alone. Bleed me as I'm dying to be alone.