[~Aoria-sama~]

Paper has been ripped from this journal repeatedly.

Page after page tore right from the seam, as if these words have been continuously rewritten.

Corrected, in frustration and anger.
A bloody handprint is on the backside of the page.

The stench of burning steel lingers still,

like a song does the hammer sound.

I long for the days that which I never existed,

the days where true order and progression were still around.

xx

I am wrapped in the comfort of my sins,

while the affliction of torment steers me wrongly.

Reflection brings me closer to revision and change,

toward the progression which I feel so strongly.

xx

The hiss of a snake draws nearer and it does exclaim,

that progression and success come from sacrifices.

Passionate rage rears its ugly head again and again,

deals made with the devil - come at all sorts of prices.

xx
xx
Words traced over again and again, at the bottom of the page - until they are bolden and almost ripping right through the page.

xx
xx

What am I willing to put on the line?