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She probally must feel like a idiot.
Used and left alone.
Her face almost makes me want to weep.
A bitter masquerade to the end.
Forgotten and ignored is her only way.
Like a lament from the swans.
So meek hearted and alone
So tired and annoyed
So mistreated when so loyal
No friends to call her own
When so many forgot
Excuses they gave, excuses they are
How I wish I could hold her
But not with these hands stained with blood
I would pass through her for I am but a ghost
So many lies and knowhere to hide
Knowhere to go from it all
A empty drawing, a empty canvas
No colors like her life
Black and white, empty and dull
The poor soul who is more than the idiot believed
Night 11/2
For the girl who cherishes friends, family, and her dreams most of all. My tender hearted favorite. Happy belated birthday.
 Cloud-Cloud · Mon Nov 03, 2008 @ 02:47pm · 0 Comments |
