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 Apr 2014 Allison Lynn
aviisevil
bite into my soul and
taste your dirt,
inflict upon me your
rules of hurt.

make a wish in the
fountain of blood,
take a sip and you shall
conquer the world.



hang me for all the world to see,
even in my death i shall walk free.




show me the strength
of your crown,
let me be chased by your
blood hounds.

cut me and scar me, burn me
to the ground,
why walk straight when the
world's 'round.



lock me in a cage so i cannot leave,
even in these walls i shall walk free.



burn my skin to reach
my soul,
why break walls when you
see no door ?

come inside, take away all i know,
feed my hatred by hating me some more.



erase me so i could never be,
even in my extinction i shall walk free.



tie my hands and give
me a blade,
tell me who my enemies are
and war shall be made.

whisper to me the words
that degrade,
and i'll scream them at the world,
as i fade.



**** the lullabies so i can never dream,
even in my nightmares i shall walk free.






now take my hand and lead me to paradise,
fire of hell blowing through the kingdom of ice.


sit on your throne and try to swallow your pride,
for this slave will never be yours,
he's the master of his own life.




hang me for all the world to see,
even in my death i shall walk free.
Notes (optional)
a crooked tree stands
boney, naked and hunched over
longing for leaves
When I think of you
You’re the ideal idea
You’re everything I need
But nothing I think I want

When I try to sleep
And imagine you breathing beside me
I think of affection and humor
You’re a balm to soothe
Not a love to consume

We are not in love or lust
There is no burning need
Just patience, comfort
Body heat for a security blanket

Our hands do not fit together
Not two halves of a whole
We’re broken pieces
Odd socks and lost pen tops
We don’t match but we suffice

You don’t fill the empty parts of me
Which gives me time with myself
You’re the ideal idea
The half smile on a dull day

I have no unrequited love
No heartache
Only the knowledge what perhaps
Just maybe
I’m not dead after all
My fingers cannot scale a melody
or take a rule across lands, to the sea
and back again. My fingers have never
pressed these strings into sounds worthwhile,
nor have they ever held a person's hand
and not felt utterly incapable of human touch.
These fingers know only strength in binding;
in fidget and rhyme, as I try to structure confusion
into something marketable. If nothing else though,
these fingers can roll a mean joint, and hold a
beer bottle so precisely to these lips.
Its easy to call someone beautiful when they have spent an hour doing there hair and make up, when they are wearing a skin tight cocktail dress and a push up bra

Its more difficult to say it when the hair gets ******* and the make up is smudged by tears the dress replaces with a stained  t- shirt
                                                      
Because as I'm looking in the mirror right now the last word that comes to my mind is beautiful...
My eyes hurt
Maybe it's from staring at the computer
for so long
Maybe it's bad for my eyes

My eyes hurt
Maybe it's because I'm tired and didn't get
enough sleep
Maybe it's bad for my eyes

My eyes hurt
Maybe it's from the mascara I just started wearing
to get attention
Maybe it's bad for my eyes

My eyes hurt
Maybe it's from the hard music I listen to
to make sense of stuff
Maybe it's bad for my eyes

My eyes hurt
Maybe it's because I feel like crying but I'm
keeping it in
Maybe it's bad for my eyes.
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