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Wednesday, November 14, 2007

The Ruins


The snapping of branches like bones beneath my feet, this Forest of Ancient Ancestors holds a loathing presence.

One which we do not speak, for we do not know the words, but feel within the course of our veins; born again for the thousandth time.

The Monster is escaping from the womb before it's Time.

Watercolor, pencils, photoshop