My dim-wittedness, pathogenic I ate, all your manipulations resembles a daggers stabbing my presence. As if I dont deserve, my heart solely deadwood brimful of torture that merits to torn-apart. Your fangs stink all my blood, ere groans from my mouth are heard. Obsedicer, clutching the time to pleasantries all purchasers present. Open for writing commissions, including per-items and packages. I wait, have blossomed in bailiwick chock-full melancholy. Solemn yet missed, I shall wham you up to be unveil, accompany my saw-toothed heart.

DECALOGUE, 01: (PERDITION BLED.)
(SHEET.) 02: WRITING & SEQUENCE.
Collide me at Quondam Gordian-Knot.