Sick Vanity
By Tegs
A twisting figment of inner torture radiates from your core, and makes the petals of this fragile rose wilt and fall of their own accord. The poison that runs through your vains sometimes drips, and infects another. The darkest agony, is masked by falsely percieved joy. A cave of ice with a door of fire bars the world from your hidden secrets, and burns your fingers if you try and escape slowly cooling your resolve and dream Of freedom. Written December 6th, 2001 © on Dec 06 2001 02:58 PM PST 0 • 10
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"A twisting figment of inner torture..."