The Devil’s Whispers


To finally taste the aura of passion as it wafts across the sea is akin to watching the ashen glow of the devil’s lips as it purses in reply. “Listen to the screech of the harpy as it flutters to the hymn of harlequin,” she says, “it is no small feat; it is merely a somber notion of one’s soul as it crowds the pearly gates in search of an unanswerable question.  Give it a yes, give it a nay, it neither matters here, nor there…just remember this though…give me your toll.  The one that your heart will pay as it crosses the bridge to bliss on its pleasant stroll.”

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