[Let me be your silver lining, dear Alice.
I'll destroy this space of menace for your sake;
send us wings so that we might be freed from crucifixion—
—running and panting heavily against timelords.
And sometimes decaying isn't the initial conclusion,
so we'll fade away to the gates of hell.]

I.
Alice and I,
we were the
best of friends
since we were
kids.
Everything seemed
alright and
we have always
been at our zenith
until the high
stakes made us
drift apart.
I didn't see
her for almost a year
and when she came
back, she only
said one thing;
"I guess no one
possesses full control
to deviate against
the violence of
the sun."
and she disappeared
forever with no traces
to be found.
A lot of people told
me their guesses
about where she might
have been gone to
but I think
they're all lying.

II.
The inherent truth is
that Alice has been
reborn and become
a menace.
That girl was a
benevolent soul in
her past life
but her heart died
faster than the
speed of light
for the villains
of circumstance
killed her.
It's true that
altruism is a
lie and kindness
has never been
something perpetual
amongst people;
human nature
is malevolent and
kindness is deceptive
and that's why
Alice decided to
resurrect as
a villain and
the heroic past self
of hers had dissipated
into a thin air.

III.
There are people
who grow up
to be the person
they promised they
will never be
when they were
younger.
Nothing and no
one has ever really
been good or bad,
Alice, I think you
understand it too.
On the outside world,
they pretend to be heroes
and show off
their facade of
"kindness" in order to
strive for recognition;
they act as if
they're martyrs who
fight for everyone but
in fact,
they fight for their
own
good.
If they're saying
that egocentricism never
runs inside them then
it's a big
*******
lie.

IV.
You and I are
the ones who
used to be
afraid of
high stakes but
now we keep
on incessantly
demolishing those
high
stakes.
When you were
back from the dead,
you became the person
who destroys
everything and
everyone that
get in your way.
You and I,
we're both arsonists.
We ignite stalwart,
heinous flames toward
everything that opposes us;
not because we're sick
of being kind but
because we've come
to realize how
thoroughly fake
the concept of
kindness is.

Yeah, right, those times when
you get involved in all those street fights
and you win them all
and all those fights are just to prove that
you're stronger
whereas your heart keeps on hollering in distraught
and suffocating in poignancy.

Yeah, right, there are those times,
you have always wanted to say,
"Dear mother and father, I have won this fight!"
after you actually conquered what the real fight is—
which is battling your fear in places where you feel unwanted.
And thus you said it with gleaming pride to the two souls who raised you.
But unfortunately when you come home they disowned you
for they have grown weary of all your shenanigans and juvenile delinquent brawls.

Even the place that raised you has eradicated your presence
and thus you have nowhere you find tranquil
and you keep on counting the next battles and fears.
And yeah, they feel privileged to call you anything,
be it a libertine with a ****** up life,
or the kid with the lowest rank of worth in the school of the heinous world.

Indeed, you can thrash the living **** out of them with your fists and guns.
But when they throw menacing words at you, you become weak
and all those fighting skills mean nothing to you now
for in all conscience you're weaker than broken branches
behind all those façades of the savage delinquent persona.

And your mother, her no-longer-precious young vine is out for war everyday,
but she keeps insisting that you're not fighting for anything at all.
And your father, his not-anymore shining crescent is now a forlorn and disoriented shipwreck,
but he keeps focusing on your rebellious surface rather than your shattered heart.
And your delinquent mates, they only used you because they think you're the strongest.
And the people who only know your surface, they're almost always out to haunt you everyday.

It's not about me, it's about you.
If one day you reach your limitation of strength
and you can no longer save yourself,
then who will do?
If there are plenty of kids who share the same fate of you
in this atrocity-ravaged world of seven billion,
then what can I do?
If lives keep on falling because all of us are weak but never get protected,
how dare I pretend that I'm unaware of it?

In the end, we all die.
Some die in contentment, some others in destruction.
Some die of fate, some others of choice.
But how would you feel
if the one who has always been in the front row of your gigs,
and the one whose artworks you have always adored,
and the one who always lights your circle with their vibes,
and the one who invincibly skates through high valleys,
and the one who sends you encouragement every night,
and the one who sends you to a real home when you're nowhere man,
are all the ones who die of choice?

Those conformist educational institutions give awards and homages to the ones
who are the smartest and brightest with scintillating future ahead of them.
But no one has ever given any awards to the strongest fighters
whose dark and distorted future is completely not their fault.

We didn't **** ourselves over shattered youth.
Those low-life swines murdered us after leaving us a shattered youth.
And thus I only have one single word;
Fight.
Not with fists, not with revolvers, not with explosives, not with submachine guns, not with daggers, not with ****** rifles, not with multiple launcher rocket systems.
Fight
with thy heart.

Shine on, homeboy.
You're my fast-paced resonating crust; whirlwind overdrive; distinctively soaring fuzz thrashing against the walls of sound.
High octane stoner rock god up in the skies of a means to an end, yeah I'm the one. Stay
gold, for austerities shall never outpower us. Thy soldiers will rise, lest they have outpowered the flames. And then you will
inhale the smokes of my dope and you
will stare at the vacant road where
all the relentless nights come; wolves out.  
Death match
is pretending that I'm alright and
the world's fine as it is.
Check mate, I have never seen you alive. Always on the
run but never with a reigning
head on the clouds. Things grow
obsolete and I have learned to
be a seizer of all things gold—
today I
am the indestructible master
of war. But homeboy,
what am I without your distorted riffs and
solemnly poignant lamentations. I
am irresistible and indestructible but you
are way more than that. I
would love my favorite dopesmoker
beyond words; standing up on the mountains that envisage
voices of hollow forces. So tell me,
is it that I love(d) the ones I don't deserve or is it that I love(d) the ones who
don't deserve me? Today I
heard about you and the fact that
you're leaving the underworld— the world that has caressed and nurtured us dearly. You said it
was over. You loved me so——
that you would prefer cutting the streams of our days than having the
scythe of death disintegrate
us apart. It would give a
foretaste of lifetime
desolation, you said. If you were
the only one who had to die faster.
Bold as dead, I am.
We both will shine on because I
was brave— and I fought for what I believe in. But, again,
you're way more than that.

13 guns to make you realize that the bullet transpierces through you when you hold back,
13 wounds that mark the birthdate of the soldiers in your heart.
What if I told you that the pack of wolves you used to lead
have become some belligerent lunatics?
You were a Valyrian steel with a heartbeat,
a Northern light with a pulse.
Perhaps you were just in dire straits
when the racing bullets took you away under the hands of the ******.
13 fuzz pedals to take you home to your world of riffs and ****,
13 distortions to shield you from the noises you don't wanna hear.
Inclement dead hearts won't resurrect if they
still can't possess the
authoritative prowess to be an indestructible master of war.
13 bullets that you swallowed but you felt nothing
because 13 scythes of the lords of doom did no fear to you.
Your wolves have been wondering every single day since then;
how could you ever end that song?
And your vultures no longer could hear you sing
so they stopped spreading their wings.
Guns. Razors. Knives. Rocket Skates by Deftones.
That's a decent tune but I suppose those three gears are for battles
not for you to dismantle yourself.
13 razor blades that kept you away from consciousness,
and 13 IV tubes that left lost souls crying on your hospital bed.
At that time I realized
you were not just in dire straits
or your 6's and 7's.
The bullets that you swallowed then thrived into your heart in revolt
and it became a cancer.
I should have known.
Deftones girl, are you alright?
(You obviously are not.)
I'll play the song Rocket Skates again beside your deathbed
so that you'll wake up one day
and we would sing marches of heresy.
13 soldiers who continued the legacy of your unfinished song,
13 vultures that fly up high to your transcendental realm,
and 13 last songs from me to you.

/////SPEED OF LIGHT
HAS RECEIVED
EPIPHANIES FROM
THE DISLOCATED
ARK.

MULTIPLE LAUNCHING ROCKET SYSTEM IS DESCENDING IN 3.
2.
1.

And so I hail
from the borderlands.
I am a
disenchanted
Malice in Borderlands
with wounds
from daggers of
w o r d s.

And I have
imagined a
darkness in the
hands of the
disciple of the
n i g h t.

I think we
are all born
as heroes but
only very few
of us aspire to
be heroes.

Striving through
blunt indignations,
it's a
c u r s e.

Through the children's eyes,
heroes turn human
in front of them
when they
grow
up.

The winds
from today are
not as erratic
as they usually are
most of the
days.

I shouted at
the famine crows
deep in the
darkest scope.
WE STRIKE HARD.
R E A L HARD.//

One day,
a group of
conservative adults
asked me
who my heroes are,
I answered a
lot of people ranging from
Voltaire to Che Guevara
to Dave Grohl;
but deep inside
my real hero is
only my
bright past self
before all of these
happened.

I think we
are all ****** up
in our own ways.
We're all reprobate
creatures of misadventures
that live through
weaknesses.
WE STRIKE HARD,
AGAIN,
STRIKE HARD.

[Do I fight for geniality?]
No. I don't. I never cross through the paradigms of those who appear indignant.

I seem to
have mastered
the art of
deception.
That's why I deeply
treasure people
who told me that
I'm not good at lying
whenever I told them
things are
safe and
steady.

A few things I learned:
1 If I keep being who I am and I don't change into someone else, I'll always be stranded forlornly with malicious wolves wherever I go.
2. I was a real Alice in Wonderland when I was younger but I took things too personally and let them aggravate me so I became Malice in Borderlands.
3. With this personality, I'll never understand what people want. I'm just incapable of it.
That's why I
S T R I K E
******* I N G
H A R D.

Resilience.
I wish
I had
that
thing.

[PREMISE: SOCIETY KILLED THE TEENAGER]

>>WHAT WOULD THE TEENAGER DO?
OPTION A: SUCCUMB THEMSELVES TO DEATH AS THE SOCIETY’S PREY
OPTION B: DO NOTHING
OPTION C: SUBVERT AND RETALIATE TO **** THE SOCIETY BACK

They told me that
I would lead a bright
future ahead of me;
that I would soon
be a valiant knight in
shining armour.
I said thanks but
I lied.
Truth is, I
don’t want to let
them know that
I’m not even sure
I would even survive
until the
age of
eighteen.

Car crash and
interstellar collision,
please face
me.
This place is a
deceitful space
of discordances.
If only I used my
short life
to propagate
revivals to
everyone,
what world would
wait ahead of me
when I’m
awake from the
death?

One day I
came home with
wounds from
fighting.
He asked me
how often did I
treat my
wounds.
I said it was nothing
for I am used
to it.
He then objected.
“No. I mean the wounds
in your
heart.”

As much as my
inner voice
reverbed,
telling me to
love him.
I couldn’t
because I’m
not the kind of
person that anyone
would love
and I should
just not love
anyone as well
for I
would just
end up feeling
disheartened.

They caught me.
I was entombed.
I incarcerated myself
inside the
disputes I created
inside my own
head.
They caught me
because I am
not a
slave of
their
societal norms.

I spent days
wondering why and
how could I
still be alive
despite all the
numerous amounts
they attempted
to excruciate
me.

—————
——SYSTEM HAS BEEN DISRUPTED—
——SYSTEM EXPERIENCES MALFUNCTION
——
__
2083208 4988 32973
39743
39493

I am.

d e t h r o n e d.

Wish I was your anything, Highdiver. I am not, right? I can’t go on anymore.

I do love you or maybe I did. Or never did at all.

Wish I could revive at least one soul in my short life.

But I couldn’t. I’m sorry Highdiver.

Almost all of my heroes are dead.

If I die, would you regard me as your hero?

Yours truly, the one who revolts in disruption as your Alice.

—

I’ve come to realize that nothing has ever been inherent. Not because I’m trying to manifest an absurdist or nihilist stance, but because the truth just is.

i.
I drove
myself home today,
Counting polemics
that I received;
that made me
feel so
attacked.

Swollen eyes,
Bruised legs,
And the urge
to dissipate
into a thin air
were just there
along with
my dead
soul.

The harsh words of
those people who
are not my
comrades are just
like an atrocious
zeitgeist of the
Fascists' dictatorship.
Those are
my biggest
weakness.

ii.
I pretend
that I am not
dying everyday
whilst in fact
every fragments of me
keeps on
losing consciousness and
even if I
regenerate,
a part of me
would always be
back on
dying.

What I'm looking for
is not a coherent
vindication nor a
stance that defends me,
I'm looking for
ways to possess self-mastery,
to be an Overman like
what Nietzsche had depicted or
to possess self-actualization
which is the
highest peak of
Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

So I began to
Construct
days of
decisive
battles.

iii.
[First arc]

I unleashed a
rather subversive
catharsis;
I punched the
mirrors until they're broken and
broke the windows with
a baseball bat
and fought everyone
barehanded
until the last moment
I shot my
two arch enemies
on the head
with my
revolver.

When I
was trying to bid
farewell,
the people
who witnessed me
unexpectedly said
that it was cool
and my dauntlessness
was cool
for doing that.

I thought
they would
hate me even more
but instead,
some of them
who are previously my
enemies ended up
wanting to be
allies with
me.
[BATTLE HAS BEEN WON]
[Achievement unlocked. +100 ability points earned.]

iii.
[Second arc]

I decided
to convey
awareness towards
the issue that
I am suffering from
through a form of
writings and speeches,
and turns out that
the society
ended up cherishing
my contributions.

They asked me a
myriad of questions
About how did I manage
to do all the things
that I have done and
how long did I take
to reach this
achievement.
I just stayed silent
for I couldn't put it
into words
how incredibly long
my endeavour was
to earn their
respect.

But I guess
it brought me
closer to
a revelation.
[BATTLE HAS BEEN WON.]
[Achievement unlocked. Magic points increased by 150+.]

iv.
[Third arc]
I have
always thought of
myself as a
modern day Cobain
due to my
lethargic self and
vulnerability and
how I depended on
cigarettes and dopes as
my redemption.

And my biggest weakness
is
my
own
thoughts.
The
world
inside
my
head.
[ACHIEVEMENT FAILED TO UNLOCK; DISRUPTED.]
[DEFEAT.]

v.
I tend
to
cry relentlessly
sometimes whenever
I realize that
all the nice things are
just dreams yet the
holocausts are
realities.

They told me,
how could I even
take care of anyone else
whilst I can't even
get a hold of
myself.

I went home with
one of my
favorite guys the other day
with bruises and a
lethargic physical condition
looking as if
I need to be protected
and I hate the fact that
eventhough I am not
fond of depending
I can't
go through things
completely alone
either.

[MISSION ABORTED—
—BATTLE HAS BEEN POSTPONED.]

vi
[No more arcs left]
I have always loved
the word "regeneration"
for the existence of that
word gives me revelation
that someday I would
get a
chance to encounter
lt too.

When I woke
up from a prolonged
deep sleep that felt
like death,
everyone told
me that they were
mesmerized by my
so-called act of courage and
volition. My lungs still
hurt and I
am still swallowing
blood that tastes like
drips of vermouth.

Honestly I
never wanted the
world as a gift; I
am in love with the
world but it goes
otherwise when it
comes to its contents.

vii
My acts that
they deem as courage
is not my
courage
it's just a form of
cognitive dissonance with
a hint of fallacy.

Oy vey, if only I
were given a freedom of
speech, I would
confront and
ask;
"Dear mother
earth and father
time, can I
live without battles
and just go ahead?"

[11417 329 2110 725
BATTLE HAS ENDED
AS DEMANDED BY PLAYER]

Sergei, I want you to grow as an Overlord.
Sergei, who knows that I might be your Valkyrie of the North
that grants you all the stars
High on Descendents songs and never caves in,
that’s how I’ve always perceived you.
Villains of circumstance might win this time
and if you let them, they would rise above and you don’t want it,
you know that you’re weary of earth and its cores.
And if you let me, I would fight with transcendence
and I would beat the living **** out of the world,
yeah, the world that has always made you drown.
Sergei, if you ever want to die,
remember that I own the skies that make you feel alright,
all the thrones, all the dreams.
Hey, I want to see, how you’ve always wanted me
to go on and play all the songs that represent
the anarchist soul of mine, it made you feel alright.
Sergei, I want to grow up as a fighter that converges all the skies, all the worlds,
so you would see how I’ve always wanted life-changing days with you.
Say, I carved your name on my coat, beside that Black Flag patch
that you earned me when I saved you from the villains.
I, used to resist my urge to wake up from hell
For my fears of you leaving, yeah, it’s the real hell.
You know, I would give up my wings and my throne,
but you’ve always wanted to earn your own
So that you could take me with your forceful wings
and show me that you’ve got over those self-inflicted scars
and that you’ve landed safely in my heart as you fight,
and you no longer think of death, which means we’ve won.

Sergei, don’t dethrone me, for the lord of the flies hasn’t seen you alive as a knight, and when you’re at the peak, tell me that you’ve won.

Well, here overcometh the wolves' radiance when any shade of faint light near me decides to come to an end.

Some days I believe I'm the knight in shining armor even if my silver lining won't stay the same way again.

I'm a fighter and for the record that's why my roads are the haywire and winding ones.

Ever since that night under my desecrated name of hindrance I still thought of you somehow.

The days have turned around and I've cried to the point where my stream of tears dry out, but why do you still appear in my dreams?

There far away in one of my deepest dreamscapes I discerned one of my knights protected me from harm and said "Never cave in, I'm your shield. I'm a dark transcendental shield."

But it was of course only a delusional vision coming from my head.

My knights don't exist and I have no one to protect me but I have my lords to protect.

And the inevitable days that are still counting until years ahead, flew away from me starting from the roots of my slither head.

I don't have a herd of wolves but I'm my own slither wolfpack head.

Come and defeat me, I'm not afraid of destruction and anything else in the world.

You don't know me but so don't I about you.

Old ruins reconstruct but if I don't I won't believe the same about you.

Halcyon days were years ago and the way they are now flames, I might not forget.

For we are the ones vanguarding our own world, never lose the world on our hands.

No one owns me but if I ever been owned by one means I have never really lived.

There is no end. There is no starting line.

You don't know me, you don't own me.

Birds in the cage don't sing, they holler for a helping hand.

If I ever found someone living under the role of those caged birds, I'll take their role instead and swallow my own pride.

In the end my only wolfpack are the voices of my slither head.

Don't ever die. The skies will tell you when it's time.

I looked through all the crap writings I did when I was 15
and one of them
had the phrase
"I am resurgent"
carved on it.

That was from
those days where
I havent realized that
I was
born to be an
anti hero;

Two years later I grew up
to be a vicious menace
and I deeply resented the way people around me manifested and projected their halcyon feelings of contentment in front of me because I was the only one who hasn't been able to feel those things amongst everyone I know.
I thought I could have been happier if I decided to redeem myself down as a hero but I
was
wrong.

No one will ever be a chaste saint nor a hero without desecration and it's alright that you won't ever be one because so won't I and all those premonitions of fright and dread will end once you've come to accept that maybe some of us were
born as anti-heroes
or
even
villains.

The visceral skies might be mad at me for I pushed people away by thinking that only drugs can make me smile and only my backup guys can save me and those skies were trying to warn me. If I seek for my knight in a shining armor just to use him as my escapist redemption to help me turn my back against everyone who claimed to love me then it's not love that I'm looking for; it's just revengeance towards the wrong people. The ferocious dissonance of black hole sun inside me hated the fact that everyone was happier than me and I was the only one who deserved headwind storm whilst everyone else deserved the sun.

Not everyone behaves generously all the time, some can turn into complete ******* including me and all those ****** up antiheroes and antiheroines who happen to be the unreliable narrators of the books I read. I have died a myriad of times after circumstances beat me up relentlessly until I choked on my pool of blood that tasted like the hard liquors that I got drunk on. At times I kept on dying for a long time and at times I resurrected but I didn't always resurrect into a better self and there were times I decided to reconstruct my past heroic self as a villain.

But I want to believe that I'm not all good nor all bad.

The caged princess valkyrie who used to wish she had a six-shooter gun, has been released from her cage and she now flies freely with her reconstructed wings to the vast iridescent-coloured visceral skies in order to reach the sun.

I am undefeated
eventhough I'm not.

We create
new histories everyday,
but we also
create
new atrocities everyday.
At least
that’s what you
indirectly told me when
I was stuck in between
the convergence of
the black hole sun.

To be frank,
once in a while I
would expect you
to wonder who actually
I am
and I would also
wait for
you to ask
me things
in order to get
to know me better.
But
you
never
did.
Let alone to remember that we once met years ago.
I guess I expected too much.

(([Lowkey] I honestly want you to wonder, “who’s this mysterious girl-next-door who recently had just moved in?” at least once.))

((Maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you will wonder about me and approach me and ask me stuff. At the time when it’s too late and I don’t care about you anymore.))

The convoluted
conundrum that
I must solve here
is about how
some people want
peace and justice
so bad but they
do the opposite of
what they’re supposed
to do in order
to reach those
two things.
I guess it made me
conclude,
maybe peace
has never really
existed after all.
Peace is probably
just a delusional
misconception
construed by
idealists who
still have glimpses
of hope.
And I am not
one of those
idealists.

I am
that one kid
who has always
wanted to
run away to
somewhere unreachable
by everyone
I know
or to dissolve
all the remaining
memories I
have.

(I’m lying if I say I don’t want you to love me. I’m lying if I say I’m alright this way. I’m lying if I say I’m fine with not running away. I’m lying if I say I don’t want to resurrect into a whole new person and create a whole new world with a whole new surrounding.)

The only time
I thought you
cared was
years ago
when we were still
strangers
(I think we still are)
and we sat
by the creek that time;
you told me
the only thing that
mattered;
the only thing
that I would forever remember;
deep in my
earnest
mind.

“All those hegemonies and authoritative institutions, I think you don’t need them. They’d hurt you even more. You don’t need to go to that communal institution called school, nor to conform to the heinous dogmas of the uncultured swines around you — they’d keep making you feel like a misfit who doesn’t matter. And I don’t want you to feel that way. When those elderly people told you that you’ll be going nowhere if you don’t listen to them; don’t listen to them for they’re off playing God. I want you to
listen to
nothing and
no one
but your
stances.
I’ll look after
you someday
and make sure
you don’t get
hurt
even if
preventing you
from getting hurt
involves
death to
both of us.”

For the love of God,
we were s t r a n g e r s
when you said that to me.

Now you still don’t get it why do I still love you that profoundly
—and why deep down I wish you loved me?

Vanguarded by thrones,  

I am still  

into the wilderness.  

For the serpents,  

they thrive into the darkest souls.  

Dismantled,  

I wish for reigns to come.  

Without power to invade,  

I am no lord.  

(How I wish I were never in a dark descent.)  

For the disciples of the knight,  

they would never come.    

My blood rides the doom,  

Baphomet’s head is on the run  

as I drown myself into Thy scape of aether.  

I thrashed myself the **** down  

and then I ran onto Thy strongest fort  

as I wrote an eulogy about you  

whose life has been overtaken by eagles with decapitated heads.    

WE SCREAM / AS SERVANTS IN REVOLT; / WHO DO YOU THINK  WE ARE—————————    

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I have always loved  

the world I built on my own  

for you used to live in it

as an apprentice of the serpents.

“Your eyes were the only witness to my ****** up past.”

Those were your

last words

And now where are you?

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BEHOLD

FOR THE WARLOCKS

AND THE HELLRAISERS

ARE OUT TO GET YOU

ON A LACERATING SNOWSTORM IN THE NIGHT OF THE YEAR 2002

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I would wake up to blackgaze tunes and kvlt growls everyday and then mentally punch myself in the gut

and your reflection would appear on the mirror conveying that you’re relieved I’m now a pacifist without violence and guns.

A libertine at heart, I could never grow up the way anyone has ever wanted myself to be

that the world is also writing down elusive conundrums that scream at me as if they’re telling me to suffer louder.

And despite the fact that you said my songs were disastrous and blackened crust repulsed you,

it was always you on the front row on my gigs, screaming out loud that I was the only overlord you would sell your soul to.

****** and severely injured, I thought the night you died was my night

where I could finally stop being a servant of the discordant world

for I thought you took me along with you to the transcendental world of death.

Oy vey, what’s left is only the fact that we’re now worlds apart

and the recording of your shoegaze rendition of my last song that you have always described as disastrous.

My flesh is saying that; 1. Thy art is believing in the power of disbelief.

and 2. You dying as a servant has made me feel more enslaved than when I wasn’t on top of the world.

Winter Valkyrie, that’s what my last song’s called.

You loved it; you loved me; and that’s how Winter Valkyrie was born.

Once I was drowning in a belligerent dark despair and I asked you what my existence meant

and then you started singing your favorite part of He Is by Ghost;

“He is

he’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see.

He is

insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be.”

Just, who am I?

Ever since that day I started calling you Winter Valkyrie

and together, we sought for roads to the altar where we would rule and destroy.

But now here I am only searching for roads to my own demise.

Remembering you, you have always said my songs were disastrous as a denial because you

thought that you didn’t deserve all the songs I dedicated to you.

Nevertheless, Winter Valkyrie,

here and now, my hands would not rest from creating distorted crusts from my guitar if you

just won’t wake up from your death.