Strings of the guitar stroke the soul violently; music made of bleeding inebriation. Buried in tender angst. Pray tell, does the heart still beat? ( fake )
β β β β
πππ ππππππππ
vincenzo santoro ββ searching for the unknown; is it madness? perhaps.
a lone wolf by choice;
mildly messed up;
professional photographer;
director on occasion;
guitarist & lyricist veteran.
( &. )
βββ Excuses kept burning my tongue when confronted with the truth behind my actions. But in my escape, I ended up in the alley of my destination. When the air thinned in my lungs, I knew only the admission would release me from this self-imposed prison.
β β β β
πππ ππππππππ
vincenzo santoro ββ searching for the unknown; is it madness? perhaps.
a lone wolf by choice;
mildly messed up;
professional photographer;
director on occasion;
guitarist & lyricist veteran.
( &. )
βββ As I drown in music, my soul burns with purpose as the lyrics imprint themselves on the flesh. Scars hidden from every pair of eyes, except his.
the number of hours we have together is actually not so large. please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.
i lost myself so many years ago that i hesitate to try to find myself again. i am afraid to begin. existing so often gives me palpitations. i am so afraid to be myself. i am so dangerous.
@StardustCrypt Vecna, huh? I knew you were into monstrous freaks.
( With a foolish grin plastered across my face, I pull him so close our lips nearly touch. Then, I look upward where the mistletoe sways over our heads. )
Hmm. Weβre doing Christmas traditions now? I gotta say I quite like Β»