DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, somethings are not what they seem to be:|


another me another you

now I don't know what to do

I wanna shred my lungs and splinter my blood

tear my eyes and spill the hidden tears that can't seem to flood

I imagine you in characters that I read

so pathetic and shameful of the things I plead

once upon a poisoned naïve time

I breathed a breath and said it'll be once---what a crime??!!

turned out to be a humiliation to that humble soul pride

blame myself for that ****** day I bled my soft side

lately in the dead she solely glides


                                                        ­                          ------ravenfeels

Wasting time
is like crime.
Best to do
something new
and you will
time fulfill.
Better than
nothing can.
_

I want to travel behind,
Backwards to that time,
When you were mine,
And I was your crime.

Breaking up was routine,
And so was making up,
Then a calamity struck,
And I survive to live a half-life.

Terrified eyes looked into mine
Bloods dripping through my knife,
I shook my head and back out,
It was over,
I can never recover,
Few minutes you close your eyes,
You never breathe nor you cried.

Believe me when I say this,
I am not bad,
I am not bad,
Just confused all my life,
I am afraid,
Yes I am!
Please don't be frightened,
I am not.
I am not mad at anyone,
Can't you see I am just hurt?

Is it my fault to drag you in a hole?
I heard your screams,
I saw your hand waving,
Suddenly you came unannounced,
Saying I am a monster,
No I'm not!
I am not bad!
I am just confused all my life,
I've been living in a lie,
I've been locked in a pitch black box,
Is it my fault?
No it's not.

Cold blood stained my hands,
My sniffs turn into loud sobs,
I throw myself to the ground,
I scream in the top of my lungs,
Your lifeless body beside me,
Seems whispering in my ears;
Blaming me for the sin I didn't do
I never killed you.

a token
ring of
Decatur still
makes pie
out of
Roberta's hind
quarter with
Illinoisan slew
by her
delicate pastry
and makeshift  
banana this
creme du jour
is a
burden of
the issue
of clericalism