You Will Be the Death of Me

Let Me Fall Apart

Asking Alexandria

Into The Fire

Nightmare before Christmas

In the low light where sounds birth learns to breathe,
dark eroticism already hums like deep bass-line.

Let us say that it is not the body that speaks here first,
but the fragile void before the note and tension lands ... tremor held between silence and desire.

Music moves  through shadow—
slow, deliberate, never naming what it touches.

serpent of a minor chord leans closer than words,
a rhythm lingers where restraint melts,
teaching longing how to sway.

echoes,
vinyl crackle, velvet night,

 voices with secrets it refuses to confess.

It is the art of almost,
the seduction of what remains just out of reach.

In this space, sound and desire conspire.

They remind us that the deepest intimacy
is often heard, 
felt in the pulse.


Pure Evil

Like A Storm

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