Falling asleep to the little step childs voice screaming and crying for dear old mommy to save her from her nightmares. Doesn't she try to pinch herself out of this dream, of course only to realize it wasn't.

I hear the thunder I hear it too. The shrikes of lost little puppys who've been shot. How sad to live a life such as that. ...Drum roll please.... Take the clowns and slit their wrists and hang them out to spread their virus. The holes in happiness is all that is left.

Let the raped beaten child of death cry when no one is around and murder when shes least angered.


Like the virgins wrists scared from the darkness that truly is victorious.
The blood clots is all she knows. No smiles no happiness just what is real. The Pain.
She tries to hide it with her overly priced cosmetics but it never hides the scars. Always they remind her that her past is real. And who she will never be.
To embrace such spoiled dreams is to cut your own throat.

To try and set apart the Meaninglessness from the sour truth is only digging your grave.

She is the nothing that you will wish to be when you figure out this foul reality.

She has returned to her ways in which she once was. Where she alone was comfortable and safe from the world.

Darkness Prevails.