the diary entry was found in the form of a perfectly wadded up ball, twine wrapping around it in the most disorderly fashion, hair clippings and and what appeared to be blood stains, adorned the outer layer. It was hanging from a rafter in the attic by a piece of red thread; reminding me of a sacrificed head.
clips of hair tied and sewn into a deep pocket. His name was Kneeon, a tall handsome black man my soul would crave the black chocolate. I could feel it on my lips warm melting me into a place that only he could. The ride was long and hard as they watched me ache with pleasure. sounds from a primal past would escape out of the mouth into a world not to be understood but felt as a shiver, the ice dagger piercing through a warm beating heart
