Testo: With Dead Hands Rising. Behind Inquisition. Tourniquet Girl.

Be still and dead.
You have been too sweet and so sedated.
You?ve kept those pins and needles for too damn long inside your organs.
I hope the worms can find you and smell your perfume before the day is done.
I visioned you with eyes of painted black and silver beauty.
Glistening.
Understanding that your never perfect.
We have put ourselves in your shoes without looking back at what you have done.
Without arms to touch the design of an angel gone horribly wrong.
Now you fall from the stars.
Leaving rays of the sunlight behind.
Now you fall from the throne.
Leaving traces of scars at the side.
No remorse to confide.
As the tourniquet slowly unwinds.
Amputate this lifeless figure.
Binded by the perfect stitches.
She was beside herself.
The urge to mend appendages has grown from a daytime hobby to a revelation.
To envision a skin of paper white catastrophes.
I pull her bandages and watch her fall to pieces.
I visioned you with eyes of painted black and silver beauty.
Glistening.
Understanding that your never perfect.
We put ourselves in your shoes without looking back at what you have done without arms to touch.
With no compassion inside you fall apart.
You fall from this waste of life.
You will fall from your own devastation.
With no compassion inside.
The mind and heart will whither.
To dust.
Resin.
Marrow.
I hope your happy this way.