Look at me
I am the perfect
image of depravity
tattered blonde hair
and empty slate eyes
only gives a glimpse
into the unkown
beyond my reality
a fragile porcelain doll
that would crack at
the slightest touch
-Don't leave me-
It's so cold in here
A think tank filled with
so many thoughts of
yesterday::today::tomorrow
the flashing of warning
signs beckoning for me
to stay away
I doubt myself everyday
'Am I really going to succeed?'
'Do I really know what I am doing?'
Sanity is a tear drop away
and ironically enough, I am all dried out
Why must someone be so ashamed of who they are and how they think?
Why must I be so ashamed of being alive?
Copyright 2004 Mistress Morbid
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/4846/42918 on Wednesday October 15th, 2008 10:48 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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