I offer no apoligies for what you see, read or hear on this blog.
I do not pretend myself a poet or storyteller, for it is not I who writes these words. I am merely but a vessel. In the deepest despair and only in the sweet embrace of vice, does The Charlatan dare appear. Only then does he ever put his pen to paper, ever more eloquently than I ever could, to expunge our demons through his prose.
These tears are all I remember. Your face stands still in time. I cry every time I try to remember even the vaguest thought of you. Not once has my brain been able to conjur up your face. Like a ghost you haunt me. You take whats left of me and I can’t fight what’s coming for me.
