My heart was accused
He was innocent
Her heart made that guilt

I bought a shotgun at a flea market without knowing that it was used to commit a horrible crime.
The former owner used the shotgun to **** an entire family and I was about to have to do hard time.
The police came to my house and confiscated the shotgun.
They thought I was the guilty party, they thought I was the one.
The entire world turned against me, I was a person who billions of people hated.
People said that I should go to the gas chamber and if I did, it would be celebrated.
Even though the public had turned against me, I convinced the police to have doubts.
I told them over and over that somebody else was the killer and they decided to check it out.
They found the real killer and it wasn't long before he was placed under arrest.
The cops showed him the bodies of his victims and he broke down and confessed.
Even though I was put through hell, I'm not mad.
The real killer was brought to justice and I'm glad.
Many people have mailed apologies to me and one of the reasons why billions turned against me is because I'm mentally ill.
They thought I was a crazy ****** but now when it comes to committing ******, everybody knows that I never will.

Guns and money
bullets and power
running and hitting
chidren in the shower

it was picked
it was lied
it was bleeded

its colors were converted to blood
someone shot
he did not love

as he might be white
as he might be intelorant
and wanted to vanish the Muslims

as he said," they are nothing
so they must not be anything
and he is still innocent

the flower is accused
it is the terorrist

I like your nose
and how it is incapable of moving
unless you are really happy
I like your hair
how it always falls into your eyes
and you still won't get a hair cut
I like your hands
even though you think they're always too sweaty
If they are, I haven't noticed when our fingers are intertwined
I like your arms
because before a simple brush of them sent a shock through mine
and now they feel like home


-em vidar

My fingers smell of you
Inner thigh bruises, black and blue

It’ll be innocent, what I’ll do
Work you into a sweat, morning dew

Feeling like goddesses, us two
Sticking to one another, organic glue

Excitingly painful but only for a few
My erotica magnifica, you haven’t a clue