Ravenclawe Wednesday Nyte

Dearest Dirge Ravenclawe Wednesday Nyte, Upon the harrowed walls does the blood, red so dark still flow, nay you know not the marks upon fallen saints and dying angels cry, when yet nothing loves and nothing sorrows now so the blood burns and passion flies, window from truth does dive. Can not we scanter, unsifted lust calls upon we who have not countance, blaze! Blaze! Call the hallowed ones together, unholy and mouldy, tired. Black, black, dark, oh blaze! Do not they see the blazing pain of unbridled lust, calling to the raven child? Do not they care the blood? How so they bid us no haste, bid us no love? A dirge towards our cold throbbing hearts, a pox to those who poison us so. The rot, the cemented feelings, cut these apart and salvage the red juicy piece who be living in our long since fallen souls, our frigid bodies, raising now not anything. March on yet, and blaze!! Alas! Loathe always, Burgundy-Fox January Snowe. ** I guess thats like a love letter or something. I don't really know, I just sat down in class one day and that flowed out. =D. xoxo Kyelle