Did you know I think about silence, of how a knife allures with its blade sharp, how it slices the skin, how I hope it is yours. To kill the people, the children, the rapid growing infection of lost innocence, oh look how they beg and crawl...how soon they forget their tongues were sooner spewing slang, drugs, and sex.
Sometimes I wish on suicide. I see myself hanging on a string, slowly rocking between the branches that hold me oh-so-tight to die. I see death without tears, my head going through windows again and again and again, and the blood..yes the blood to which I draw my art,
please don't forgive me, because this isn't for forgiveness.
Did you know how I loved him when I left him broken hearted, and he left me crying. We had loved each other, but both committed separately to new affairs that tended to the present, and well of course the future is always changing...and I could always make a romantic feel like scum. I'm the real dreamer. I'm the killer. still wishing for him to answer me, but no. He is silent. He is hiding from the fact I am his failure, I am the evidence that commits him to lust, to inhumane...I commit him to truth;
He couldn't love me.
And a tamper with kisses, touching, and dreaming leaves me innocent and ignorant; because I never knew I was yours
til I lost you.
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