"axed" poems
for Susan O'Neill Roe
What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.
23.5k
Honest,
that meaningless word left dangling before children,
a damoclean sword held fast in a gordian knot tied with scarlet thread,
finer than the spider's that once tied men's souls to an angry American God,
birthed in Transylvania,
over the woods, and through the dale, no lie
There is a tale of lies told in Nobel houses, never reachin' ground,
Down here, we situations manifested to, vain, again, stem the tide,
We flounder, fish out of water, why are we sent if
wait
he hears, he listens, haps he knows, and
how such as we came
to be here,
Welcome and see, dare ye ask me in? Might I ply you with lies
and you, believe 'em?
I could make a mindless robot out of your parts, but
that would take forever and
that's not how
Wisdom's child would tend to be, for first,
You must believe a lie and I, amusing as can be,
can't tell lies.
Discernment, fine points, per-spicacity per se, the only way.
Good luck (Luc, said luck in many tongues, is said Lose- as in Luc-ifer.
It means light, as in light, regular old granted light.)
Lightifier, good, take some, good light, for the travail, in the night.
You see, not so long ago, for me, five years before I'as born,
my momma moved to town.
What was that like, I axed my old uncle, while back,
movin' t'town, in 1943?
Well, he says,
We had electricity.
USA, 1943, some folks still was poor, and all the good men
was gone to war.
Cities, it was different,
if the movies got it right, Bowry Boys, n'em.
In the desert we did, okeh, in town, though,
we had electricity.
He was ten back then. He'd been huntin' rabbit's,
to buy Christmas presents from Sears and Roebucks,
since he was five.
C'mon, I say. No lie, he say,
BLM or some gover'ment
whatsajigger, was payin' 2 cents a pair fer jack rabbit ears.
'Said he bought Christmas presents for his mom and dad,
and my mom, with his first rabbit money, at five.
Shootin' with a single-shot 22, 12 cents a box,
Jack Rabbits, 2 cents a head.
Three Christmas presents, plus postage, $2.56.
Do the math, I think, and go -
Five years old, at ten, he moves to town, 1943,
we had electricity. That's all.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
December 2005; January
2006, Summer that year.
2008 round the middle - no not the crash.
2009, yes the muddle.
Tell me about how May 2010
was axed by December 2010.
Palm, palm, date palm, ash cloud.
February, April, August 2011 and
that dreaded December.
last grasp of the kite string,
off goes the dreamed of high
far far away the anchor moorings
when transmission stopped, all white
noise since then, empty
prattle chatter of the key board,
two millennia and counting thirteen, fourteen,
fifteen, march, October, March!
January 2016. A new landing.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden”
a Bob Dylan lyric
<>
mine own “ex,” in chest encased, silent, with grimacing smile,
happy to be of sir-vice, sent home unhappy, cause his cut,
not quite deep enough
this time,
though nearly succeeded,
but his biz is an-all-or-none inclusive Swifty tour, disillusioned,
he don’t get paid unless he brings my punched ticket to a glorious
sadness conclusion
someone asked (axed in local accent) if I’m nearer my god
having survived despite my best efforts at self destruction,
to which I’m smiling when uttering a “heartfelt prayer” of
Hell No!
cause the channel always been open and either side can initiate when so desired, the gates of love always open,
so wasn’t surprised when playing with my matches,
he went silent, but knew fully well, Mr. G a risk taker,
put his roulette chips on a “basket bet,” (1)
needing a double 00, to collect,
because, shoot, the timing was good…
Me?
ain’t naive enough to hope that a prayerful request
would not be met with a “now you want some intercession?”
and a heavenly sneer, cause we always been perfectly clear,
with each other, ask and you won’t receive, and none of that
what have you done for me lately razzamatazz,
nah, the record impurities gray
and no pencil erasures allowed…
knowing that the executioner will be back’ round someday,
my wounded heart too tempting to pass up twice, and
that’s ok, this old man learned to live with
a not entirely pleasant uncertainty,
*”This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.”*
but he didn’t play two, having no kazoo!
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
Since I have no other way
And am in utmost need,
Painter girl,
I filch one of the eight lambs
You have made plump with
Green jackfruit leaves and
Thin gruel with paddy bran.
I will take it to the goat market
And sell it in a jiffy.
I assure you
I will not sell it
To any butcher-
The lamb you made chubby
With sweet sweet words
And much much petting
And nice lilting croons,
Mixing and mixing
Greens with browns.
Don’t be sad, painter girl.
I hear you come running
Searching for your lamb and
Cry out “O my dearest one
Who went grazing in the green fields,”
As the sun in your canvas
Sets in the sea and
The saffron blends with the dusk.
And, see your tears mingle
With the black that you wanted
To adorn the brow of
The naughtiest of them.
Painter girl,
It’s all because I have no other go
And it’s of utmost need.
I could have broken into the
Two-storeyedhouse you sketched
And stolen the ornaments in
Secret lockers that even
You are unaware of.
Or, I could have
Palmed the golden girdle
Of the beautiful ***** princess
Whose portrait you made,
The one with a nose stud.
Or, drugged her with my kisses
And plundered the harem.
Or else, I could have
Entered the snake shrine
Guarded by the dark serpents
That you often drew
And fled the country with
The precious jewel.
Or, I could have shot down
The birds that you drew
And sold them grilled.
I could have axed down the
Mahagony trees you nurtured
And sold them as timber.
I could have blinded your Kanhaiah
And made him a beggar
To become rich from the alms he earned.
I could have enslavened his Gopis
And handed them over
To the red light streets.
Painter girl,
It’s not for anything of this sort.
I take just one of your eight lambs.
Sell it for a good price
And fulfill my need.
Now, perchance,
If a new tenant comes to rent
My brain where nothing resides
And if they pay me a fat advance,
Painter girl,
Surely will I buy back your lamb.
And tether it in your painting.
Don’t you dare say then
Don’t you say then
That you have forgotten it.
Don’t you say then
You have exhausted your stock of
Green jackfruit leaves.
(Trans from Malayalam by Ra Sh)
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
I Think I'd Make A Good Principal is just one of the stories within these pages, but you'll also find a recess superhero, some suggestions on where to time travel, a tiny guy that can't sleep, a fussy grandpa that lives upstairs, a zombie mouse, and several other funny and imaginative poems sure to delight both kids and adults. (Complete with wonderful illustrations by artist David Lee)
It's something that wouldn't be typical,
But I think I'd make a good principal.
The first thing I'd cut would be funding for math,
Maybe not fully, but at least in half.
Next on the list would be killing off science
Proudly shaking my fist in defiance.
Social studies is sure to get axed,
And geography class prob'ly won't
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
Once in my Universe
All the things were
Missed
I was Created
By God's Will
Forth intact
Fulfiled with an innocent fleur
I Created Playful
Bountiful Place
All the joys and sorrows
Were Missed
There was The
Abundance
There was a light laughter
Of ignorance
Of hardly recognizible indifference
Of not knowing Poles are Axed
Of vague rememberance
Of
Which is Arctica
Which is Antarctica
And how to go there Magic W. . . .
Yet I had a technicue to reach a central core of Divinity
Yet I've heard about Shangrila and
Yeti
&
Yaks portruding with knited chimes
With wide reasonable heads watching
Extremly enchanting Dragons floating
Effortelessly alluring to the beholder's
Navigation
By The Cloud
By The Thunder
By Resonance
By Imagination
Coming True
The Child
Butterflies were landing on my arms
And I was a Mighty Director
Of my Dreamland Dying
With every second
Not knowing
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
This ship has set sail
With a crew of fifty good men
And twenty heavily coated dogs
Over half the crew will be dead
By the time we reach our destination
On this secret government expedition
Journey to the bottom of the world
To find the Southern Pole
The wind blows us where no life lives
But the bitter cold
From North America
Past the southern tip of Argentina
Harbored at the Falkland Islands
For our last taste of civilization
Six months
Or maybe it was a year or more at sea
To the icy shores of another planet
Encased in endless days of darkness
The ship became marooned
In frozen oceanic tundra
For many winter nights
We the crew chiseled, shoveled
And pick-axed our way to break free
Of our prison made from solid crystal air
Finally unyielding land ahead
An unmovable iceberg
We dock and unload
Steady our sea legs to skis and sleds
The dogs take off across this untraveled land
Pulling us in tow
Faster against the frigid wind
Than our own frostbitten limbs would allow
Ninety degrees south latitude lies somewhere ahead
Blanketed in fresh snowfall and ice storms
Supplies and moral run low as this weary travel continues on
Shaded in zero visibility we set camp for the night
Harbored against the soulless chill
In a frozen crevice of ice mountain
Our health deteriorated and the dogs drained
Polar sleep sets in
The arctic wind chills us to the bone
And my cold eyes close
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 7:28 AM UTC
Since I have no other way
And am in utmost need,
Painter girl,
I filch one of the eight lambs
You have made plump with
Green jack fruit leaves and
Thin gruel with paddy bran.
I will take it to the goat market
And sell it in a jiffy.
I assure you
I will not sell it
To any butcher-
The lamb you made chubby
With sweet sweet words
And much much petting
And nice lilting croons,
Mixing and mixing
Greens with browns.
Don’t be sad, painter girl.
I hear you come running
Searching for your lamb and
Cry out “O my dearest one
Who went grazing in the green fields,”
As the sun in your canvas
Sets in the sea and
The saffron blends with the dusk.
And, see your tears mingle
With the black that you wanted
To adorn the brow of
The naughtiest of them.
Painter girl,
It’s all because I have no other go
And it’s of utmost need.
I could have broken into the
Two-storeyed house you sketched
And stolen the ornaments in
Secret lockers that even
You are unaware of.
Or, I could have
Palmed the golden girdle
Of the beautiful ***** princess
Whose portrait you made,
The one with a nose stud.
Or, drugged her with my kisses
And plundered the harem.
Or else, I could have
Entered the snake shrine
Guarded by the dark serpents
That you often drew
And fled the country with
The precious jewel.
Or, I could have shot down
The birds that you drew
And sold them grilled.
I could have axed down the
Mahagony trees you nurtured
And sold them as timber.
I could have blinded your Kanhaiah
And made him a beggar
To become rich from the alms he earned.
I could have enslaved his Gopis
And handed them over
To the red light streets.
Painter girl,
It’s not for anything of this sort.
I take just one of your eight lambs.
Sell it for a good price
And fulfil my need.
Now, perchance,
If a new tenant comes to rent
My brain where nothing resides
And if they pay me a fat advance,
Painter girl,
Surely will I buy back your lamb.
And tether it in your painting.
Don’t you dare say then
Don’t you say then
That you have forgotten it.
Don’t you say then
You have exhausted your stock of
Green jack fruit leaves.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
Oak Tree
My old friend,
Strength and beauty matched,
Sing a song tonight,
For,
tomorrow,
You'll be axed.
-b-
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
Strippers blown out of moving caravans of pornographic stature
Lesbians terrifyingly terrify each other to pieces in the back seat
Of a vintage Camero built for speed and automobile crashes
Blood red runs off black lightening sunshine
Telephone polls and graveyard ditches
Can you handle this the raving seductress asks
No problem with the foot on the floor
Driving west
High on scorpion **** and speed
Fire fighters are ravenous breed
Barb-wired writers are blasphemous breed
Chasing antique dreams towards the sunset
Off lost in the Desert Mountains
Thirst for quench and moonshine howls
LA is a happening place
**
Axes
Axles
Axed
**
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 6:52 PM UTC
The wind tickles my moustache
cigarette tips its ash
must remember to get that waxed
or relationship could be axed
My hair is looking grey
better buy that dye today
my nails look discoloured
but couldn’t be bothered
Still got the voucher for the gym
I’ll put that in a card for him
Son’s birthday coming up, 25
open lines of communication, strive
Today’s feeling is melancholy
haven’t got the energy to be jolly
ah, here’s the bus
paste on smile, face life thus
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:28 AM UTC
I'm a being of demonic force
With nothing else left to show
Keep running and don't look back
Before I decide not to let you go
My eyes see through your disguise
And will scorch through you soul
You really think you can take me on?
Believe me, heads will roll
I'll tear out your rotten intestines
And use them to hang your carcass
You don't want to mess with me right now
Or I'll bury you under the grass
Slice your throat, gouge out your eyes
I have many methods, take your pick
Choose your method of misery
Torture so sweet and sick
I'll gladly bury you, then dig you back up
Just to **** you once again
Once I'm finally done with you
Not even ashes will remain
So back off and quit while you're ahead
Or that head will be axed and dumped in the sea
I'm not one for you to pick fights with
This is my legacy of brutality
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
How bitter it was to be bereft
of Crown and life
in self same breath.
Bitter it was to fall and die
while disloyal Stanley stood idly by.
The arrow lodged close by my spine
as I was pole axed from behind.
A King of England, doubly dead,
stripped naked ,on an *** was led.
In Leicester's graveyard I was lain-
The anointed monarch they had slain.
To lie forever in this hole
while Henry wore the crown he stole.
My Queen, my son, both predeceased,
were nobly interred and rest in Peace.
While I, Richard, ignobly lie
near Bosworth field with Greyfriars by.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Be prepared for anything
For loss of lives with no reason
an imposed treason
on your very existence
You'll feel like you are
the blackest or the whitest man on earth
racism shoved down your throat
and the hate keeps coming
Peoples morals will be axed
principles thrown out the window
we'll do anything
to get everything
Tyranny will have allies
Your complains will be put
"under advisement"
for you matter not
then you'll truly know
order, brotherhood and love
was nothing but a speech
and speeches are for campaigning
So I say
you quickly and quietly
Open that can of coke
and drown your emotions on a failing heart
like you've been taught
Or open your eyes
to the deep slumber of disillusionment
you've been subjected to.
And then you'll know
for the sake of peace
you gave up your freedom
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 4:35 AM UTC
I do respect my elders but some run their mouth like immature teens.
I don't need negative reinforcements to do things
You an the rest of the battl axed ridicule and embarrass those who are growing up trying to be their own persons
I understand they want the best for me but they need to cut the crap since they are contributing
Towards my future I'm not trying to divorce and be another statistic
I may not be the greatest person but I'm a better person than their kid
They seriously have the nerve to judge others
I'm respect and don't expect much while others demand the world of me
I'm not hiding anymore in time ill throw it back in their face
I know once I start speaking my mind they won't talk to me make it seem I'm the disrespectful one for speaking the truth
They start It but little do they know I'm the type who exposes them shutting them up they are the last ppl who should be talking
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
The grass ain't green on the other side
it's just another lie from the government
best lock your doors and run and hide
cause the time of reaping's imminent
They promised all and delivered ****
just to keep in line the working man
now the fan's well and truely hit
and it's time to get up off the can
We gotta vote with out feet this time
we've gotta get our voices heard
penny for your thoughts, man here's a dime
you slew the eagle and gave us the bird
Capital punishment now that's a joke
cause it's done to us all each day
the man in the suit holds the yoke
and the bill of rights is to high to pay
Walk on walk out or just walk away
cause the land of the free's been taxed
and we can't watch the piper play
as the cherry tree gets once more axed
It's a lie it's a sin it's democracy
and we all know whose to blame
cause we voted him in with beauocracy
and hung our heads in shame
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
Once upon a time,
You were bound for someone’s fireplace
Ready to burn yourself to keep the cold out
Sacrificing yourself for the warmth
An admirable ambition nonetheless
But what a shame of a way to go
You were exceptional, so one of a kind
Like a buoy in the ocean
You stood out among a sea of commotion
With no hesitation,
A craftsman decided to fight for your alternate life
Picked you up, hauled you home
Boy, what a heavy log you were
For you to truly shine
Rots needed to be axed
Botches needed to be sanded
Cracks needed to be filled
After a lifetime of love and care
Now you get to literally say
“Dinner’s on me!”
Chainsaw marks and scratches still remain
A part of who you are but no longer in pain
With new purpose and endeavor
Looking as beautiful as ever
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
I am now a diamond
Who misses her mountainous mine
Back when she was coal
Back when she was coated in soot
Back when she loved a miner
Who only loved her potential
Who ushered into caves yellow birds to find her
Who used a light fashioned on a hat just to see her
Who pick axed away at her bed
Until he held her in his hands
As softly as would a flower
Who died to make her
Her ash underneath his fingertips
Her worth a blinding sparkle in his eye
She thought he would use her for heat
That she could power his body
And warm his soul
So she let him set fire to her
She let him press into her so tight
She mistook it for closeness
And the stress
The heat
The fire of it all
It make her crack her dark amber
Striped her of her soot coat
Leaving her naked and clear
A diamond
Now a spectacle of her mistrust
On display for the world to see
Placed on the finger of another woman
That the miner actually loved.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Certain people hate the Wii U, they call it a piece of crap.
But I like the game console and I think it got a *** rap.
It's no XBOX One or PS4 but it's not an abomination.
I believe it was good and that's not an exaggeration.
Yes, a few of its games do stink, especially Paper Mario: Color Splash.
When I played that game, I'd get so mad that I wanted to throw it in the trash.
Nintendo released the Switch after they axed the Wii U.
People hated the console and so it was discontinued.
I hated to see the Wii U fail, it has become another Dreamcast.
Certain people hated the Wii U and now it's a thing of the past.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 10:03 PM UTC
someday it will be willed (have I told you lately that I love you?)
that the poetry ceases,
no more birthdays notated
calendar closed, the xxx’s axed,
kitchen junk drawer, a consignment store,
no longer needed, the futility of saving
knickknacks, maximized, the no lasting
value proposition, realized, eulogized.
pictures of beautiful automobiles,
decorated with beautiful women,
will forever be last year’s models,
one calendar too far, not long enough
no more of
have I told you lately that I love you?
wrote you plenty love poems so, hereafter,
you won’t be bereft, left farklempt,
arranged one-a-day, on a timed delay,
so many more that will appear in your
inbox until you too, no longer choose open it.
no more “sirprising” I love you statements,
taped to the milk carton, it was so willed,
the daily counting, record keeping, who first,
how many, secretly added to a grocery list,
in stuff that was so beloved, exasperating,
making you just right amount of crazy, smiling....
someday it will be willed, so,
here’s the first of many more....
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 4:19 PM UTC
He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye
The axe’s edge did try;
Nor call’d the gods with ****** spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down as upon a bed.
This was that memorable hour
Which first assur’d the forced pow’r.
So when they did design
The Capitol’s first line,
A bleeding head, where they begun,
Did fright the architects to run;
And yet in that the state
Foresaw its happy fate.
from:
An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland
by Andrew Marvell, 1651
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 7:47 AM UTC
Winter was settling in at the hedges,
Whiting the meadows and hanging off ledges,
Crazing at windows and frosting the willow,
Creeping at ceilings and freezing my pillow,
Outside the woods were embraced in a tangle,
Snow falling steadily, stars were a-spangle.
I felt it time to be wandering steadily
Out where my footsteps had followed hers, readily,
Past where the pathway encircled the wishing well
Holding the pennies we’d tossed for a lovers spell,
She’d walked ahead with a bow in her auburn hair
One yellow ribbon, that’s how I remembered her.
She’d seemed uncertain and wanted to talk to me
I really didn’t, but she said to ‘walk with me’,
Down through the woods where the leaves lay in Autumn,
Yellow and golden, the grounds of Bell Norton,
Once was a convent and practiced religiously
Then we were deep in the woods by a poplar tree.
She turned and spoke of the thing I was fearing,
Took off her ring and the pearl in her earring,
‘I am in love with another,’ she said to me,
‘What of our love?’ then she said, ‘That is dead to me!’
‘You must allow me to love Justin Hanger,’
I felt cold rage and I lashed out in anger.
She fell pole-axed at the foot of a chestnut tree
Never a sign of the life that had once loved me,
Dragged her some distance and into the Folly,
Covered in creepers and mistletoe, holly,
Buried her under a floor that was rotten,
And left her in store so that she’d be forgotten.
Now it was months and I came back to see her
Deep in the winter, with weather so drear,
Opened the flimsy old door of the Folly,
Caught up in creepers and mistletoe, holly,
When from the floor came a sound like a groaning,
Under the boards was a weeping and moaning.
‘This can’t be true,’ as I came in and staggered,
Watched a hand rise through the floor, looking hagard,
Most of the flesh fell away from the bone,
Then the floor heaved and I heard the girl moan,
‘Where is my lover, the one that is true to me,’
‘You must be dead,’ I said, ‘all this is new to me.’
I took the axe that was stood in the corner
Raised it aloft as if I tried to warn her,
Then someone tackled and brought me to ground,
Muttering something, ‘At last she’s been found!’
And under the floor were her human remains,
No moaning or groaning, just my guilty pains.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
**I lived in greatest of expectation
Wished I'd find one to share my grief
Someone to understand my situation
And I ultimately found her,to my relief**
*I was you
So obsessed with the pleasure I found
To her control where I was bound
So cultured to having her around
Lost in conversation, love as common ground*
I was you
I trusted without asking
Yes,it was really tasking
loved like there's no hurting
Held on like we was never parting
Kissed deeply and memorably
Embraced tightly and inevitably
Lost it all,as I vividly recall
**I was you
When the love became history
yet I couldn't solve the mystery
when all I tried to say only irritated
and the warmth of her evaporated**
*I was you
when my tears flowed like a stream
and I just couldn't bear the steam
when scary was every dream
I wouldn't survive an hour it'd seem*
**I was you
I watched blindly as days went by
Even my tears said goodbye
my eyes bloodshot and dry
like I was doing **** and sky high**
I was you
when aches became my pleasure
And with loneliness I spent my leisure
When mistakes cost me my treasure
was told for memories time's the only eraser
*I was you
when I was axed and "vexed"
and no one else worked
for my moods were a pendulum
and moving on an extra curriculum
when I wanted to see her in the next
and I would still call her and text*
**I was you
I was empty for I had lost a universe
she was in every song and every verse
threw away chances,missed every pass
ignored the glances,a man under a curse**
*I was you
but one day I started to rebuild
I was tired of looking back
and needed to get back on track
I started to count my blessings and luck
To see the much I have over the little I lack*
**I was you
But self actualisation came with time
a long time of wandering lost
years of being dead to life and living a ghost
of thinking letting go was a crime
when I gave up forever and ceased to be blind
placed pieces of my heart in a bag and let reign my mind**
*I was you
when I wouldn't live without her
and I reopened every healed scar
when I felt that if it wasn't her it wasn't love
until I realised we only lose what we don't deserve*
**I was you
Till I believed I could find myself again
that if I couldn't overcome I could live with the pain
when I forgot the innocence and embraced the stain
and instead of crying I started dancing in the rain
I was you**
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC