Tormented Hearts Are Currency

And Monotone

The Current Trend Is Apathy

Your Metronome

(Seems Worlds Are Collapsing Onto One Another)

Simply Seeking The Crumbs Of


In My Plate Of Sin

In Which My Soul Is Fed

Its Lack Of Hope

Beautifully Unreachable And Futile

The Blue Of Clouds In Grey

Nuances That Mold

Farther From



Perfect Synchronisation

Simuntaneously Spinning

In A Half Moon

Fade Ruins

Off Into The Horizon

Distance The Stance Of Dis

As Gates Are Closed And


Is Just Code For


Vicious In Its Demise As We

All Go Down Swinging

Our Final Blow

The Windows Are Boarded To Keep

The Mourning From Intruding

Your Soft Echo


In All Its Other Facets

Dawn Is Breaking Across

The Nightscape

As Morning Climbs And Throws

Its Limp Freshness

Over Our Placid Darkness

Theres Just So Much Room

For Notches On Your Bedpost

And Theres Just So Many Lines

You Can Put In A Song

Without Dragging On

So Sing Along

heartbreak sonata resonates

across the void of an

abysmal concavity

the boulevard is rampant with new

things to taste

we still keep our bordellos

as slaughterhouses

because nowadays

morals are synonymous to


We Are Papercuts

Traced Crimson On

Smooth Ivory

The Stain In The Fiction

That Reeks Of Truth

We Are The Aftertaste

Of Bleach

We Are The Darkness That

Soothes And Seals

Your Fate

Your Lips


In Funeral March

We Are Scars On A Body

Of Solstice

And The Period Of

Every Sentence

The Children Of Routine

Inevitable Break

In Structure

the last breath uttered.