I descended the stairs and heard her soft voice from the kitchen singing in dulcet tones about how she missed her mum. 

Death cannot be replaced, it only replaces. 

Still shaking Ghosts like dust.
Still dragging my feet in mud, still like a lone wolf howling for a lost cause.
Still dreaming of you, perpetual.

Still.

My face worries with my heart behind it - my step stutters with a weight undefined.

Ain't no rest for the wicked as the wicked are often those with all the ambition, malevolence requires a certain get up and with no laurels to let rest upon they're often running faster than the rest of them.

All ambition can be called malevolent, all urges aspire to conquering in no secret part. 

The want of a better Horse is not for the beauty of the animal, but the lust of a sharper blade.

Love & War; the slobbering want to devour.

Both treat their subjects as objects to suck blood from

I've never seen more mannequins than in the eyes of Cupid

I've never gutted more than when lost in the gasping realisation of shared countenance, or drunk more blood than that which lingers in a forceful kiss.

We're all fucked, because of our want to fuck.

There is nothing romantic left, just a map labelled 'bridges to burn'