Epitome paralysis.
By FaeSinner
Crimson, this song reveals the feelings of myself. Fever, shaking as I lay expectant under the sacrificial knife; mental glinting. Words lay strips of white agony as I type this death of me. I shadow my own execution. Victim to prophecy; propagander. Foundation swept aside causing rifts and uncertainty. I no longer know myself yet I walk this edge accepting. Written March 2nd, 2002 © on Mar 01 2002 08:16 PM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"Crimson,..."