Metamorphis

"Cronch, cronch, CRONCH!"

The sound of wet snow turned sludge dripping out of your chewy disgusting mouth makes my dormant butterflies vomit their own set of daggers.

Your whispering of blizzardy emotions along with fluent bodily movements torture animalistic instincts. Each flirtatious hits' vile imprint from a mutually bored misfit, with bonus tidbits, gets consciously toned to be ignored, for sure! This wretched image of Amor restore my sense of livid interest like a chore. But that's my limit at its core.

Her volatile heroic wars seamstress meets the lord of compassionate stoic hindrance. Together we mask ourselves in the blood of past mistakes for a new dawn, in the same land we've t