xPammersx

Wooded Dreams. My eyeshadow vaporizes into poison of the night, Slowly terrorizing the watcher and his invisible basic right. How ironic it is to have an insane phobia yet feel simply human, With time standing still, the noise of a crimson candles wick ablaze, will illumine. The diary of a damp moth, lays buried under rotted wood, and autumn leaves, For what was once an optimistic beautiful creature, is now the one who will deny it's living mind and what it believes.