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My thoughts are rotted and my soul smells like sulfur.
Violence has become habitual, spirituality has become vexatious.
I'm a murder scene, the bright yellow on the caution tape.
My brain , my heart , they still need to make the distinction that there in the same body.
Emotions have a deficiency so I yoke them up and prostitute them to people.
Long enough in an abyss and your suffering starts to suffer.
Being beautiful, respect ? What's the point ?
I want to die with scars on my faces.
I want the broken bones, the bruises.
I can't go out with this charming face, it isn't honest.
I don't want to be a copy of a copy of a copy.
I can't control my shakes I shouldn't be enjoying this
The imagery got me. And the
The imagery got me. And the last stanza was superb
Awesome!
This
This is good. More stuff like this.
“What the mind doesn't understand, it worships or fears.”
~ Alice Walker
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost."
Damn, this one is really
Damn, this one is really good. You can just feel your words in this. Intense.
Verbal Verbatim
Move Ovah . . .
slim shady - spit it~A~