I want to play with knives... I want to play with fire... I want to feel the burn... To quench this damned desire.
I know you want to hurt me... I know you really hate me... I know you don't regret it... And that's why you betrayed me.
I see the children laughing... I see the babies crying... I see the grass is growing... And all the trees are dying.
I want to end this poem... But it seems I can't... So I'll do the impossible... And end this endless rant.
Silent_Melancholy_Enigma · Thu May 01, 2008 @ 12:21am · 0 Comments |