Scorched

Scorched Plains
Between the twisted paths, we wind the the flesh through coarse demented sands.

Crackling indigo flame burns the threads, I smell the utter stink of fear roiling within.

Curse the looming walls of dark shadow, fuck your mother-fucking evil thoughts.

It happens I think, we lose that virtue we hold so dear; god I miss the simplicity.

He was base and browbeat, sinking in the depths of filth and without.