The Gilded Palace of Sin

Poetry is dead, some say, because, like love, it exists only in our imaginations. Pictures and descriptions don't enhance, but only diminish our understanding of both... Sex, drugs, and decay are easy to explain. They bleed all over our everyday lives, and enter our bodies and brains. The more habits we develop, the more directly they lead us down the path of destruction. In the end there is peace, but, as they say, at what cost? Comedy, Drama, who in the end can really tell the difference? The mind reels, the soul drifts, and the body aches. Welcome to The Gilded Palace of Sin.