It's in my mind where I scream, But no, you'll never see it. I despise all these aesthetic formalities. Painting the picture you want to see over the stained truths. If I did scream, would you even look my way? Even I can no longer tell where I'm going. A warm sigh passes these lips, welcoming the numbing winter. The changing seasons warrant the dwindling of the remaining life.
Vulgar Fantasy · Thu Dec 24, 2009 @ 07:02pm · 0 Comments |