Death is his passion, The smell of fear, The smell of hate, He loves it all.
I sat there for a little while not feeling anything. No emotion, just boredom, waiting for the drugs to kick in.
Mara had been awakened by the soft whispering in her ear. She open her eyes to see Mausolem sitting beside her on the bed.
Angel Slut She knows the joys, of girls and boys, in Abrocrombie clothes
The darkness feeds off sorry souls Eating, Feeding off broken bone Your heart runs cold A sour smell hit your nose
The matter of karma came up earlier here, and it reminded me of something. I do not subscribe to the technical concept of karma, but I do believe in “what comes around, goes around.” A while back, I was thinking of the string of problems that have hounded me since junior high school, which have… Continue reading The Cost of Carma
I drug my bony, fishnet-clad body down the painfully crowded hallway, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. I was fully aware of the stares that followed my every move as I nervously tugged at the belt loops of my black leather pants.