The poetry of light and darkness.
The pain of being something you are not & being what you are.
Plain, bloody, consuming, lethal magnificent life.
My own past.
Not in years... but in agony.
Gothic and sometimes beautiful.
Always beating with a heart that is partly my own.
Stay a while and enter my world.
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Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The lone wolf still cries
Does she hear me, my tears?
She who sees all things.