HiMyNameIsCrash

Jagged cuticles were a proscenium for your uneven black fingernails as they carved into the moldy, heather colored paint on the door frame. The threshold groaned, and chips and splinters gathered in a pile around your red four-inch high heels. There was a smile on your lips, and even though they were some strange tinge between seafoam and blood, it was beautiful. I gathered you up. My arms cradled you against my bare, frostbitten chest, and the laces of my boots sounded like mice skittering across the tile floor. Taken away from the whittling, your claws, dripping with your own blood, started to dig lovingly into the flesh on my shoulders. I

There is a man you may recall Whose hide has broken canes Most men, when killed, will disappear The Masked One remains Your memory will carry on And never throw away The ballad, nay, the legend, of The León Valiente The Lion comes, he's dressed in tights That cover just his legs His Mask it taut and perfect, Not a single loosened thread His body is a mural Of our Independence Day Slaves and captives, victims, praise The León Valiente His boots lace up, his hands are gloved, He's wearing iron rings And rumor has it, 'neath his cape's A pair of angel's wings When the moon's a sliver That's when you'll see the Rey The hero