Stifle by: Aon L.W.

this fault at which i fall. this commoness in which i claim. a summon of the dark, a fracture of morale and of simplicity. these are the failures in which we grieve. for this misery i crawl and forget the tortures of what was left. the huge metal boxes leaving tastes in my mouth. a rusted seed, planted on the face of humanity. for this i cry and for this i wept, but never tears of the soul. i live to see life, and i kill to see death but i never crossed the line. these numbers i will never see or be. to continue ther ace of last rights and to give them a margin by which to travel. these are the perfections i now sell my soul for. stains i care for, lives i've died for, nothing and everything all at once... and this i can't feel. this abrupt dealing. lay your head in lap of loneliness and rest your hate at it's feet. this is the dying day. to keep fate at arms length, to concern yourself with pride and to compete without the knowledge. here be stifle, here be monsters...

contact Aon L.W. - spite@worldnet.att.net