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A VacummHe is music, Gasping out his soul To the wails of pounding pianos Reverberating through the prison halls. And when he speaks His rose petal voice finds the fire And is perverted into ashen thorns which Choke his quivering throat. He is music, Noise in a vacumm, Vibrations on the moon, Screams slipping through the sun. He is music. And there is nothing more to him Than that.
Self SacrificeThe castle rose ominously above the farms, it was squat and ugly and lit by the blood red light of sunset. Maritza pulled her blue shawl tighter around her shoulders as she climbed up the twisting path. No one watched her go, everyone had gone inside long ago. She clutched at the neck of the wine bottle she had been drinking from as if it were a talisman to ward off evil. At the gate she stopped, gulped down the rest of the bottle and threw it to the side. She then took out a rather large needle, she watched the last hints of the sunset disappear. She wanted someone to be there, to tell her not to do this. No one came, because no one knew. Sh