And Aubrey was her name . .

            It lights up burning hot. Glowing with blood, orange, and tinge of yellow, from one side to the other. Slowly piercing at the deeper surface. Cauterizing and showing off the tainted flesh. Flaring between smokes and bones. I inhale sharply the stench of fervor, and the tang of wildness until they burn a sickness in my throat making me choke, and breathing in the smoke soon again.             Every burn and every sting builds inside until it's deepening into my stomach like boulders and catches fire on its emptiness causing me to choke again. It's a never ending cycle of pain until I'm marred and breaks into ashes.                           I am not like the others. I am burning in hell, the hell of myself. Sometimes it's strickening but more often...

"This is gospel for the fallen ones Locked away in permanent slumber Assembling their philosophies From pieces of broken memories" -Brendon Urie, This is Gospel             Considered a misfit, a square peg in round hole. Criminal without a vindication, condemned by ignorance. If you're a holy person, or a worshiper of the conventional standard of goodness, stop reading now. The following words are just arrays of unholy oaths. As this for the renegades, a confession of apostasies. A  gospel for monsters.             "I stand often in the dark cracks, under the deepest pit, where centaurs, titans, and behemoth dwells. Yes, I do fight against them, but more often, I just play along with them."             When we were kids, our parents would always tell us not to be afraid of monsters, as they only e...