another Baudelaire

Another day


even tender touch that won't endure

for you and yours

Just another backwards facade


On the road, night is long, forgets its own...

it hissess, at the nape of his neck

Name yourself, blood yourself

masked fang, cry aloud, caress the distance

Beginning to doubt what is thou art about, the truest you alight





Evill that men do. A hint.