Cross my fingers and hope to die.
all i want is my love. my plague.
a tradgey, in the mind of a mansion.
the perfect set awaits the cast.
anything could happen; this is no magic i assure you...
for this play in my mind is subject to bouts of imagination.
it paints the walls, or sucks them black and white, like the text of the script.
the script that pour from my mouth.
something unnatural, it is...nothing you ever seen.
a masterpeice!
priceless... trashcan worthy.
cover it up please...or soon we will be smelling the sweet but disgusting scent of rotting flesh.
the mind vanishes under the lid.
no more.
im washed up.
i've lost my mind.
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