• aka_ch1dz 6w


    The torrent laughs at the days of the past
    Dreams wiped away from or brains
    The breeze of death tempts at last
    And the roads a filled with plenty stains

    The winds scribble ink upon our bare chests
    And the finishing touches laid as blisters
    We pray for a new home of rest
    And not to die inside the twirls of a twister