The Personification Of Evil That sound again the rustic ticking, the sound of tortured clockwork. The blackness that engulfs me is bit that of nights creating, the un-natural sensation of nothing around me but the most beautiful thing being right infront of me. The soundness scream, the noiseless soundscape of the tortured imagination. Black. I am awake again, my vision is blurred and spiked with red strands of blood stained tears. And still that ticking. Around me was black, charred wood. A body. Black again. Now I only see light, I hear voices, singing there praise to the sky. But below comes the red blood darkness of what lives below.
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