Friday, April 29, 2016

Burn Baby Burn

Two cardigans,
Wrap her scars in the scent,
Of the nervous sweat,
That drops from the top of her head,
Down to the ends of the world,
That treaths her colder,
Then the house that's on fire,
Lighter shimmers in the mirror,
Was it I that hurted myself?
Was it I that erupted this destruction?
Am I the creator of my own devestation...
Two shoes,
Are in the trash,
Blood drips from the red all stars,
That started as white ones,
Paid for in cash,
No trace back,
To the sack that never had her back,
Dressed in black,
For the sake of invisiblility,
The trait only those who own it,
Would trade theirselfs for,
Yet unaware,
Thy in fact share,
The grey of see trough,
Two hands,
In her hair,
Can not bare,
The headache,
She pushed it over the edge,
Lighted the fire,
And see,
How someone that was frozen,
Could still go down,
In flames...

Burn baby Burn.





















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