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jacob-ryan-rosendalePoems
It can't be easy being the patron saint of sinners but ****** all if you don't make it seem that way. You look so good in blue, as you serenely sway along the streets touching the eyes of blind just like Christ's own messenger. The dirt and dust that coats us all never seems to stick to you, the disease that cripples us you cast off with a twist of your white hand. You're silhouetted form against the wall, cast from an acrid fire gave me some kind of hope. A soft whisper of a word that you produced from nowhere made me feel like I could be you. Wars seem to die between your lips and so could I. You might as well have wings. But where are you tonight?
0
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC
Doubtlessly Saint Nightshade
It can't be easy being the patron saint of sinners but ****** all if you don't make it seem that way. You look so good in blue, as you serenely sway along the streets touching the eyes of blind just like Christ's own messenger. The dirt and dust that coats us all never seems to stick to you, the disease that cripples us you cast off with a twist of your white hand. You're silhouetted form against the wall, cast from an acrid fire gave me some kind of hope. A soft whisper of a word that you produced from nowhere made me feel like I could be you. Wars seem to die between your lips and so could I. You might as well have wings. But where are you tonight?
Written by
jacob-ryan-rosendale
American
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC
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