the clattering metallic hiss of the cymbals as the low rumble bassline builds chillscascadingdown myslouchingspine tracing the curvatureofhersmile inelectricpurple illuminating thedustycorners ofinspiration citiesare burning asmissiles fly childrenlay dead all because the president raped children and got in the pockets of equally evil shitstains who are close enough to death the idea of armageddon holds no […]

when i was a kid they taught march can come in like a lion and go out like a lamb although the opposite could be true as well but neither lionsnorlambs behave quite the same as the world wobbles with an adjusted amount of melted ice while wiley winter winds her icy touch a bit […]