On the other side of this jet black hotel mirror there lies a sleeping angel. A sleeping angel trapped inside the confines of fantasy, stuck between life and death, fingertips daring to reach out
and touch reality. Frank Iero gazes into the cracked mirror, eyes roaming across his own face. He’s searching for something that isn’t quite real. The circles under his eyes tell a story of their
own. A story of sleepless nights and bottle upon bottle of Smirnoff guzzled down his throat. A story of nightmares and uncertain dreams. Frank questions himself, his reality, everything. No
amount of words or lies can every truly fix him. “When did reality become so damn demanding? What must i say or do to be forgiven?” Question after question is spoken in a nearly inaudible whisper.
The angel awakens, called from sleep by the heartache in this young mans soul.
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