- Joined
- Oct 7, 2019
- Messages
- 4
- Reaction score
- 0
Death has an interesting way of reaching into every aspect of me. She drops her poison in my pool of creativity, infecting my artist’s expression and restraining it from full capacity. Her touch edges along my fortress of confidence, breaking it down from within. The angel of demise sets a window of doubt in front of my eyes, so everywhere I look feels like the wrong direction. She whispers nightmares into my dreams as I sleep and takes pleasure when I wake up hours before my day is scheduled to begin. Her aura shrouds my reflection, projecting a shallow image which disallows me to love who I see in the mirror. Death hangs temptation in front of me, as if she is a matador waiting for me to charge.