You are not lost amongst dark angels; the pillars of light you dance around are not meant to illuminate.

But burn.

We all have strings. From wrist to wrist, from throat to throat. Tying us to our secrets, our hungers, our friends, our family.

Yours are not mere strings; you have wrapped yourself in barbed wire.

This entry was posted on Friday, November 11th, 2011 at 5:25 pm and is filed under Crimson Writ. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.