Text:
Withering Surface Ichor Ep

Orbital decay, sadle the right horse The sickness of their weakness Their pain values high And our lives seems so empty Upon the savage shores Laughing

A Photo In A Frame Old I Dwell Here Sad The Clock Keeps Ticking Still Blisfully Ignorant The Mourning In My Light A Passage Through My Fright The Shape

Illustrated thoughts undescribable foams Shadows of blue scrapes Selfish, unprevailed, to everflowing extinct Cells, cocooned, protected Tissues, illustrated