TW: i can hear the spirits whisper through walls, the evil ones, seeking my soul to feed demons fueling my depression with toxic thoughts that blinds my conscience everyday i fall weaker as they come closer to feast on my broken soul
i fail to keep my sanity and fall for their evil trap i seek forgiveness for it wasn't me but the devil that possessed my senses luring me to follow them into the realm of the dead as i take a step further to let my warm blood flow against the cold floor
When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings. — Dean Jackson
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