It’s not a question of belief; it’s a question of faith. Faith that life beyond the drawbridge is life. Faith that kisses still taste red, that tears still shine blue. It is the faith that blood still drips of love and hate still drips terror. It’s the faith that I will be you, and you will not be me.
The dead ones are dead, they are as dead as they can be. Alas, we are still dying, cheating our way through the possibility that the blade is dull and it will spare. The blade is till shinny, so new, so powerful, oh so biting. The blade cuts… the blade kills.



It told me, it is us, the alive and breathing ones, which make the graves. The dead ones don’t care!