Curse words reaches my ears
Ears shame the voices heard
Heard of what is unknown to me
Me ofcourse tend to forgive
Forgive thy lips that utter the words
Words that pierce my heart like a sword
Sword of which one can draw to ****
**** the naive person within
Within where a child stays hidden
Hidden with emotion packed situation
Situation that none other can understand
Understand the wrath that soul goes through
Through the darkest days into the meadow
Meadow full of blooming tulip flowers
Flowers that linger my heart to forget
Forget the words that pin and pierce
Pierce my heart, poisoning my mind
Mind which turns into thoughtful haze
Haze in all moments, unwilling craze...


©sim

Suffered have I through time,
While searching for home
But I never found a homely planet
To accommodate my bitter sorrow.
Cursed I am, I believe
To not find happiness, ever.
I have tried, I swear
But fate does not release me.
Love I have not known
Nor warm lips have I felt
Or held a trembling hand
In my own unsure embrace.
Many years ago,
A witch had cursed my blood,
I know now
For I dwell alone in darkness
And my kin lives far away.
For I have not found happiness
Nor love have I known.
Cold lips have touched mine
And the sweet aroma of death
Locked onto my heart.
Cursed I am,
To live forever on this foul land
And when my death occurs
I would still wander
Maybe in a parallel world
But still close enough
to hear the wails of my tortured soul
And see the decay of my body.
That shan't come soon,
I need not hope.
My mind lives in fear
Of today and tomorrow,
However, the past I cherish;
For bitter kinlove I have known
And their lips brushed my cheek.
Their cold hands caressed my hair
And their cold souls left me for dead.

my demon is anger.
it rises and erupts in me;
i’m no longer a quiet, cool ocean,
but a fiery, angry volcano.
my demon escapes when i am weakest.
it wants me to be strong,
to dominate.
to destroy.
to be the best.
my demon is my curse.
it’s a part of me.
it makes me, me,
but i think it’s ugly.
it’s hideous.
i want to put an end to the anger,
but with two small hands
i can’t possibly stop a volcano.

Forgetting easily is a gift
and a



















**Curse