

The Morning AfterThe pain and torture fill my soul And i fight it back Don't let it show But the tears take over And slolwy they fall And my pillow won't dry Until the morning after Not until the morning afterThe Morning After
The pain and torture fill my heart And i can't fight it
i've become weak And i can't hold it back anymore Slowly the blade falls to my skin Slicing through Leaving the marks And you won't know Until the morning after Not until the morning after
The pain and torture fill my life Leaving me with nothing No more to fight fo


The Bleeding Pathi walk alone, naked in the pitch black of midnight The thorns along the path pierce my skin Cutting into me and leaving the wounds i ignore The blood pours from my arms and legs Leaving pools of crimson as i walk Basking in my own defeat Your words echo in m mind And i see your face behind my eyes i beg you, don't leave me But i fear that i see you slipping away i grasp at your hands to pull you back The tears in my eyes that i refuse to let fall Are beginning to spill over and drop on your skin And i feel myself slowly fading awayThe Bleeding Path


Upon the Dropsi cut, i bled, i needed more.Upon the Drops
i watched the drops fall to the floor
i pushed it in and pulled it back,
trying to forget all the virtues i lack
the salty tears fall from my eyes,
i lie in pain as my soul slowly dies
weakly, i slide down the wall i wilt until i am nothing at all
--
LHA/-Thorn.
---
There is more to being a decent critic than saying you like or hate something. Challenge yourself to say which things you like about something you are judging/doing a critique on, or what about it you don't.
--
LHA/-Thorn.
---
There is more to being a decent critic than saying you like or hate something. Challenge yourself to say which things you like about something you are judging/doing a critique on, or what about it you don't.
--
:.)|{Just as Empty and Hollow as Before}|(.:
--
Par désespoir de l'amour qui n'est pas échu. Par désespoir de la mort qui déjà m'a prévu.
i am the poem that doesn't rhyme.
Srry I'm so weird...>.<
--
:.)|{Just as Empty and Hollow as Before}|(.:
--
Par désespoir de l'amour qui n'est pas échu. Par désespoir de la mort qui déjà m'a prévu.
i am the poem that doesn't rhyme.
I'm weird.. I'm just the coolest weird anyone's ever known...O.O...>.>
--
:.)|{Just as Empty and Hollow as Before}|(.:
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