Torn ApartI am dying slowlyDisassembling from withinMy cells are leavingI let them to go freeThe world is silentSo why do we keep shouting?Our screams don't echoThe mouths are not wide enoughIt doesn't matterWhether you are up or downIt doesn't even matterIf you matter after allYou're already insideOf everything that there isNothing can change youOr make you more saintAnd so in your deathYou are always rebornThe same basic entityThe same insignificanceReady to be torn apart
The White PrinceThe albino had entered the house in a perfect silence. His wafer-thin blade slid back and forth between door and wall, seducing the thumb-turn lock. A sliver of pink tongue flicked out from between his lips, in a serpentine way he confessed to adoring. His butterfly heart was hammering its black wings against his ribs, impatient. He whispered to the agitating creature, his aching heart, in hushed tones, gasping quietly as the door swung inwards. Slipping and lapping across the kitchen floor, he slid inside with the rain, dark pools of moisture gathering upon the lino. The voices of his mind clustering at his ears grew into a vibrant cacophony