Joined: May 22, 2005
Location: Bracknell
Posts: 120
Posted: Wed Feb 22, 2006 7:24 am
I’m merely a shadow to my inborn self
Like an Absents of light trying to uncover the smoke of fire.
The tree is the root to my survival margining in single terms.
I try to ascend to the top but I’m just six feet at height.
The O’clock is striking with a vary.
The blood is pouring but I seem not to spill a single drop.
The scar is growing!
The pain is increasing!
The walls is speaking a word of tongue
And it taste like a bitter crunch filled with what the world entitle the truth.
When I open this door
Will it seal all my twinge?
The streets carry footsteps that follow the path of death.
The funeral leaches in like a maggot swallowing the rooting flesh of life.
The chronicle ‘goes you can’t escape.’
But mistaken for a lost script from a myth.
But the legacy still lives on.
And its as authentic as this line.
If I spoke your going to die will you believe me?
When I open this door
Will it seal all my twinge?
Why should I caution you?
When all you would do is parsaking my help.
“ Help “ is only a four-letter word that could save you.
The number “ s.o.s” is quick dialling me with a compress of a forgotten touch.
