Poems from Sarlaz
I hold the silver over flesh and feel the sting of thorns.It seems like there was no damage.Ah, there it is.
The red buds grow from the...
Snigger,
hate me,
fear me, kill me,
pass me, does it matter?
For I am void, for you, to you.
The outcry of the outcast is no more,
so we...
Some say that to write on things not real is less then vain,
that it is a practice in futility,
that it has no place in this world.
Perhaps...