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By Vampire Chris

In a far away place where the sun never shines. There is a house that has become a glorious shrine. A place where life is discussed and death is fortold. Where stories are spoken to young and to old. Even this magical old house tells it's own story... Crushed empty beer cans as carpets, cover the floors. Hearts with lover's names, ingrained in the doors. Long thin candles measure the time, half filled whiskey bottles stand as ornaments on the mantelpiece stand in line. Dead stars pictures cover the walls, Elvis, Marilyn and of course James Dean. God I wish you could see them, because they have got to be seen. So when my number is up, I prey you will find, my picture as wallpaper hung up in the shrine.

Written by vampirechris