Your Ghastly Heart,
Little remains of your face.
Your id has overcame,
And I don’t miss you.
Your beaten and bruised,
Soft, tender, sweet skin.
I don’t miss your ripped
Golden locks of silk.
I don’t miss your tearful,
Sweet, sickly sweet voice.
All that we went through is nothing,
And I no longer need that Graff Pink,
I’m content with an emerald,
Cut to perfection.
Tag: Photos
March Snow/Militant
A militant mind in a peaceful place,
It is a pity to waste such a scene.
With such a chaotic haste,
Watching the silence,
Hearing the still,
Knowing I was meant to kill.
My hand hurting,
Heart yearning
I lay my head to my chest.
I pray to god, so far above
‘Please give me some rest.”
Begging, pleading, I do not feel a change.
But I’m sure there is something he can arrange.
Pulpit seat bruising, I leave
Covered in painful sweat,
I walk in the cold,
Lighting my cigarette.
Just Skipping
Just skipping instead of silly walking through the gates of Mordor,
That’s me.
That’s the strength of my strange.
They used to call me the devil man,
I never want that again.
Well I do,
But we’re talking about you.
Wait, no, this is me.
I’m the blue eyed demon.
Embrace the jabberwocky,
I’m not just cocky.
Fade to my street,
Laugh as I don’t look both ways?
I hope you’ll never understand,
I’ll write above you.
Dcid Corvid 