• poetic_catastrophe 45w


    I sit there, surrounded by the walls painted in blood of the demons I had slayed. I'm not scared anymore, as I hear the blood dripping off the walls drop by drop and I feel the smoke swirling in air, tainted with memories and the stench of rotten flesh. Feel, because this is the place where the sight doesn't work. This is a place I shouldn't call home, nobody in their right mind would, but this is all I've ever known.