Behind the frames of perfection blood flows like rivers. Your tears of decay will wash you away. The cry from a thousand tongues goes unheard. Ignoring the pain for beauty and suffering. Creating your own hell. Where your demons dwell. She chose the path. Like so many others before. With a knife to her throat. She just walks on and on. The blood on her hands. Burns like the darkest fire. Still her eyes are blind. To see she has become/ another walking corpse The walking dead. Living life in death. The path of the dead.
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