Tuesday, March 31, 2009

sometimes things just fall apart, 
everything broken can't be fixed.
the silence could be the cry of dread,
all within white robes, the saints stink of blood.

pent up anger and broken mirrors,
all that you run away from shall return.
nobody knows where I've been, the things I've seen;
in the dark, when its raining, the nightmarish ghosts return.

sometimes, things just fall apart,
everything broken can't be fixed.
the edges of the mirror bleeds of vanity,
the naked soul hunts for shreads of sanity.

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