Midnight Show #titlechallenge Crimson ribbons trailing down creamy pale skin. Cold steel blade pressing within. With each toll of the bell, flesh becomes cooler. Each slash of his wrist, black puddle grows fuller. Old grandfather clock looks on, as his midnight moan marks her forever gone. Blood tasted on blade, he gets off his knees. No audience needed, only himself to please. She's now only artwork, strewn on the floor. Much more appreciated than the former twenty dollar whore.
Lyric
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