Jul 16
They are dropping like flies.
One after the other.
Like blots of oil on pristine attire.
Yet, I do not feel a thing.
Or more accurately, I feel at ease.
Decay.
One after the other.
Like blots of oil on pristine attire.
Yet, I do not feel a thing.
Or more accurately, I feel at ease.
Decay.
When Evil rots in the ground.
I do feel a slight sense of relief.
I do feel a slight sense of relief.
