I feel like writing...
The leaves fall away from the sky,
dirty, cold and dead to space.
Fall patiently just to be crushed,
and fade without a trace.
The leftover seeds that have gone to bed, are never meant to be.
With nothing left,
but submerging death,
Never to fall from its tree.
The cold air shivers, around my curtains,
caressing the lonely shade.
Gripping my child, blue eyes of treasure.
Why couldn't you have stayed?
This house is crying against the wind,
For walls that know of filthy sin.
I'll scrub it clean until it bleeds,
So you might come back to me again.
The time lingers around my thoughts,
I can see the sun peeking.
Imagine, a new dawn.
Tricky demons are only sleeping.
The mirror smiles at my tears,
she knows of where I stand.
I salute this criminal of unhallowed shame,
but I seem to have cut off my hands.
I render myself useless...
12:18 a.m. - 2003-01-11
Recent entries:
you have arrived at your destination - 2015-09-03
Little Black Book - 2015-08-03
happiness. - 2015-06-18
Quiet riot. - 2014-01-08
Note to self. - 2014-01-02
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