I think I can paint this world for you now. From decadence and disorderly life to death and blank slates. Something I own, expressed dearfully to you as if I have always owned it. Perhaps remembered by no one in the end, but for now, maybe even just a glimpse of light from the murk and more, just to prove it can exist. even if it fades within the hour. Sincerly, Rosier.
Beat. A. Hole. Through. My. Chest. Let every hand that leaves me come back with blood.
