My friends are dying,
naively unprepared
for the war of the psyche
which now exists.
My bombshell empty.
I don't want nothin,
I don't need, I don't.
Madness undenied, I grow
angry with myself, my home.
Triggered to ignite, I blast
lead from my heart...
...and a succubus
returns the shrapnel love;
a haunting from a past life,
when a charred cat made
away with my dreams.
- John Lunar Richey

ENVIAR CORRECCIONES