The walls of my heart are breaking, my mind's demons are playing on the edge. It feels as though madness is an old friend, a toxic one. I played with the rose's thorns and pricked my finger. My blood drowning my feelings and I turn to stone. Not the beautiful kind, the one with cracks and dirt, roots are controlling my place and I looked into the eye of despair. Twisting and turning to my last words;
"Au Contraire, mon fraire".
