..I am already dead, I've always been dead I just don't want to pretend to be alive any more..

..Kohl lined .cold. l i f e l e s s blue orbs peeked out from under ebony tresses. A silver barbell in her tongue went along with the silver spikes sticking from the leather bound to her neck and hoop in her bellybutton. Almost always an oversized black hoody hung off that thin form, under the hoody hid a black vinyl backless halter top. Low and lopsided on that waist was a tiny tattered blue 'n red plaid bondage skirt. Black knee-high fishnet stockings took over her legs, while clunky black Mary Janes clamed small feetsies. Nails were bitten and tainted black to match her apparel {soul}. Everything she needed was always in that worn out black backpack she hauled around..

Height:5'3

Wieght:95lbs

Age:18

Marital Status:Single..

Family:Older sister Tiffany the midol whore

Pestilence, disease, and war

haunt this sorry place.

And nothing lasts forever;

that's a truth we have to face.

We spend vast energy and time

plotting death for one another.

No one, nowhere, is ever safe.

Not father, child, or mother.

Is the end of the world a-coming?

Is that the devil they hear humming?

Are those doomsday bells a-ringing?

Is that the Devil they hear singing?

Or are their dark fears exaggerated?

Are these doom-criers addlepated?

Those who fear the coming of all Hells

are those who should be feared themselves.

There's no escape

From death's embrace,

though you lead it on

a merry chase.

The dogs of death

enjoy the chase.

Just see the smile

on each hound's face.

The chase can't last;

the dogs must feed.

It will come to pass

with terrifying speed.

The hounds, the hounds

come baying at his heels.

The hounds! The hounds!

The breath of death he feels.

The breath of death he feels.

-The counted book of sorrows