This pain ages old Which follows me everywhere i go This life full of secrets Stories untold The bag full of screams And memories that I can’t let go What a journey life is But now all i wanna do is let it go To commit a sin So sinful That will truely set me free Free from this bag Which i am not able to throw And be free
There are few memories that no matter what you can never let go, they might have occurred when you were a child but they don’t let you go no matter how hard you try
i was in the shower earlier and i kept turning the temperature up up up until the water felt like beads of fire scorching their way through my skin bringing comfort to the blood pumping through my veins again
and i wondered to myself if perhaps the reason i felt so at peace in the pain was because i was missing my true home down down down in the raging depths of ****
You are trouble. He said with sparkles in his eyes. Is that good or bad? She no more than whispered. How naive, child. To think trouble could ever be perceived as anything but destructive. Bruised is she, the troublemaker with her loyal and trusting ways. To be needed, to be looked at. Not as a challenge, something sinful but something worth staying. Leave her be, if all you see is a firecracker begging to be put to your fire. You are trouble, and she your purest desire. Don't put the blame on her. Your meekness is on nobody but you. Leave her beautiful, not broken to judge her trouble before goodbye.
Love is varying but you were not what I expected when the word first tarnished my vocabulary. The word is sinful and leaves such a foul taste in my mouth; no one will ever get as sick of the word as I did.
No one's ever surpassed the absurd expectations of this vile word & I don't want to stick around to find out if I’ll fall into its clutches too.
I scamp around trying to find myself, All others say – you’re ******* lazy man, I try to do something others don’t, People say – oh, look at this child’s moan, I want to be nothing like everyone else around, They scream – so, you think you’re better than the rest of us and you want to fly off this ground?
I say – I want to, I try to, I dream no matter what But in the end I realize, I’m just like everyone else in this ****** world I’m rotten, sinful and full of ****, And only with time I realize that I’ve been swallowed by others… and puked back into this dirt
Sinful one, Attend to your plastic spirit. What’s your defense? Thou lack affinity for love. Blinded by your blanket of haughtiness, It is you who is your own enemy, the creator Not the lover, not the unassertive, If you so choose your predestination, by all means. Amuse thyself with the lack of vitality, The people know because they watch. No longer is it you that is your enemy, It is the lover who is your attacker.