I Believe The Road To Hell Is

They Were Still All Beautiful And There Was Still Enchantment And Wonder, But She Had Crossed A Line And Now The Fairy Tale Was Green With Corruption And Evil.

Now Panic Beats And Flutters Inside My Skull Like A Flock Of Starlings Locked In An Attic.

I Was Built With A Love Of The Night And The Unquiet Coffin.

A Short Story Is A Different Thing All Together - A Short Story Is Like A Kiss In The Dark From A Stranger.

Fault Always Lies In The Same Place: With Him Weak Enough To Lay Blame.