Whispers Of My Ashes Over the Cascade Mountains, are where the whispers of my ashes can be heard. Floating in between, all of the pines, the cedars and the firs. In #life, I wore the same skin as the devil. In death, my name still conjures him on some level. I am still reviled, admired, loathed and maybe even loved. Though none of that actually matters, for none of it was enough. I was a bad person, doing bad things to the good. I did it all because I wanted to, and because I could. A sick soul, is something I grew up with inside. Woven with my normality, that sickness I cleverly did manage to hide. Cold blood, pumped around my killer veins. I had to give in to the sickness, give in to the killer pains. I was only living, to mount up the dead. The body count grew, and my ego was regularly fed. None of me was left, my depravity took it all. The highs of killing, put me up for a mighty fall. On death row, I counted down the days. For when I would take my last breath, and be forever despised. Scattered where I spent the happiest of my days. I wanted to be somewhere where the good part of my heart now lays. The Cascade Mountains, are where my ashes will always stay. Breathed in by the living, and keeping company with some of those that I slayed.