PowerlessFlames

I wonder how many days you've spent feeling lost. Thinking that you're going somewhere. Never actually getting anywhere. You look at the same four walls over and over again. You can paint them in different colours, But you know they're still the same. And you convince yourself that you're making progress, Nothing's changed, but you're making progress. Things are getting worse, but you're making progress. And then you wake up and realise, That shit has hit the fan... Suddenly you're forced to do the things you couldn't, The kind of things that you were never comfortable with. And you find out you can do them. You find out that the only

The Flower of Evil: Evil is but a blooming flower, Alluring, captivating. It is born from a humble seed And grows to corrupt a forest. To watch its infection spread; To be a part of its existence... I can think of no better prospect, Can you? Indeed one might baulk at the idea, Of seeing millions suffer. To watch worlds scream and writhe; To see them suffer and die, with living eyes... Yet there is a mysterious beauty in such devastation, Fear that shakes me to my very core; Is transfigured into a twisted pleasure: As I am frightened, so too am I aroused. I am addicted to the ephemeral sensation; To the borderline between rapture and rup