Dark mystic faith healing powers once found a way. Upon the cold bridge parapet a bloodied boot left for what seemed like days. What about the revolver fired from point blank range? Does this mean the antichrist had a face?

Somewhere between circus and cabaret an audience would gather as if to breathe life into this one remarkably viable lie. From Paris to Miami but with only one grand disguise. She could not dance far enough to escape those piercing dark eyes. And so it appears the truth had been hiding in plain sight.

But what of a fool that would invite spiritualism into his own house? The sovereign family penetrated by an occult Doctor Faust. Within only weeks of a ****** revolution such a leader would surely be cast out. Due to these tragic circumstances the monarchy would never again enter the Winter Palace.

This asylum seeking bloodline must now rule from afar. A private Windsor education was the most imaginable start. Now in a cozy sea breeze California community lives The Boy Who Would Be Tsar. The great Prince Andrew, sovereign curator of American folk art.

This is your garden
A kingdom with a court of fireflies
Flowers bloom
For lightening bugs
Keep drinking coffee
From your best friends mug
Watching your garden grow
You're so warm
I can see it in your eyes
Everything you touch goes green
Every time I speak
Things turn blue
Lets go sit on a rose petal
Forget about
The *** on the stove
Just keep on watching
Your garden grow

No one
Would think less of you
If you did not know
He cries every night
For the universe rests in his hands
The sounds and colors
The people the feelings
So many images all right there
In the palm of his hands
Yet no words do it justice
He can try
But he only feels failure
He can see it all in a second
Its all so real
He can almost touch it
In his mind
He practices
Holding an apple in his hand
He turns it green
And blue
Yellow
Red
Orange
Black
He gives it wings
Throwing it
With all his force
All his anger
Every bit of firey passion be has
He throws it
And watches it float down golden hills
Into a chasam
Then gliding up mountain winds
Meeting each cloud
With the kiss
Only an apple could give
Sweet and sharp
Crisp, clean and pure
Despite all this
Despite seeing the apple
And its winged journey
All he feels is failure
He has failed to truly show you
The beauty of the apples colors
The shine of the golden fields
The drop of the chasam
And the rise of the mountains
The glorius meeting
Of apple and cloud
A sight deserving of scripture
But a sight only he can see
No one would blame you
If you did not know
He cries every night

I have borderline personality,
I can be sad and happy,
I can feel the sad and happy of the days,
I'm always mad
I'm always bored
I'm just so empty
All the time

I have anxiety
I feel like dying every day
I wish everything could just disappear

I'm just illness and pain
I'm just sickness and destruction

I have borderline personality
I have anxiety
I have pain
I no longer have a life to live

The heart in my chest
Has grown cold of late
Lonliness, she eats away at me.

I have taken my heart
Into my own hands
But she has pulled
What little warmth
Was left in my fingers

Now with cold hands
And a frozen heart
I pass into the night

Maybe it's the feeling that I could tell you everything.
Maybe it's fact that I could make a total fool of myself,
But not dwell on it because I know that you'll still love me.
Maybe it's because I've never felt like this before and that I have no fear of you hurting me.
Maybe it's the fact that I no longer believe that I am a tough person to love because you make it look so easy.
Maybe it's much simpler than that.
Maybe it's more complicated than this.
Maybe all it is, is you.