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Imperfect lines carved into skin etched in deep by sharpened pin tiny road maps to insanity little. tiny. tracks. of inhumanity Gouged into a perfect slate filled with blood and sealed with hate a rutted path to macabre damnation no salvation in the ruination A meandering road in total eclipse from empty eyes to barbed wired lips to the broken heart so badly stitched stretching all the way to apocalypse Fragmented memories line the paths edged by tears of broken glass echoing in silence of words unsaid these are roads even the dead fear to tread
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Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
Where Even the Dead Fear to Tread
Imperfect lines carved into skin etched in deep by sharpened pin tiny road maps to insanity little. tiny. tracks. of inhumanity Gouged into a perfect slate filled with blood and sealed with hate a rutted path to macabre damnation no salvation in the ruination A meandering road in total eclipse from empty eyes to barbed wired lips to the broken heart so badly stitched stretching all the way to apocalypse Fragmented memories line the paths edged by tears of broken glass echoing in silence of words unsaid these are roads even the dead fear to tread
helen
Written by
Australian
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
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