The walls are bad, black, bottom kind. They are the sick breath gathering at my hind. I hear stories from the chamber how Christ was born into a manger and like some ragged stranger died upon the cross and might I say, it seems so fitting in its way, he was a carpenter by trade, or at least that's what I'm told.
my personal blog; angry, sleepy, horny, and hungry at all times. a love of art and graphic design and architecture.