c'est la vie

she was up shits creek without a paddle, with one fore-limb in front of the other in sync motion -- making caustic hymns with her march as she dances to the devil's drum. on uncharted territory she roamed aimlessly, wondering how she'd begin her journey through these blasted landscapes and matter of fact how this caramel tainted goddess would pursue her ambitions if she were pounced upon and interrogated. than again, she wouldn't dare shy away from a fair fight, if it takes maiming a few hounds to get what she wants then so be it. the gods will send whatever obstacle they see suitable for this damsel to overcome as she cups that star in her paws. she wasn't afraid, no, instead she continued onward between the dense forestry.

fear, though, is an element in the brain that takes it's icy talons and wraps around your innocent soul and begins to squeeze the life out of it. if you open your heart to this demonic essence you will be drained - your body mass will deteriorate in seconds if this phobia is transmitted through the brain cells; morphing your body into a state of extreme comatose. fear is not something to be taken lightly, although it's fairly easy to get hypnotized by it's narcotic drugs. i guess you could say, nia has once in her life opened herself up to such monstrosities and abominations albeit she was able to overcome it's intoxicating suffocation. the dame knew all about the demons in this world, for the bell tolls and death favors no man and where the devil roams - shadowed behind many facades in order to keep his identity a myth. insömnia used to be a victim to his child's play; 'till she took hold of her sanity and flew away from venom that he pumped through her bloodstream.

the lion masked femme fondled upon what looked like a bloody massacre, her expression was neither heinous or empathetic towards the suffering of the creature. holy sh!t on a shingle! the rumble of her mighty greek articulate lyrics managed to bounce off of the tundra of the heavens, noting the blood that lay splattered against the bark of a fallen tree - next to it rests a corpse of a thousand wounds; crafted delicately like a mother deer. the creature was left for dead, but neither it's tendons nor skull was caved in from any further annihilation from a wolf or large predator.