Chapitre 88: Modern Warfare
I think the last time I checked,
I was standing there.
Holding my breath,
With your ice cold stare.
Trying to swallow the shame I bare,
Underneath all my tarnished glory;
That has me reaching what I once believed in,
An angel beating heart of my remorse.
Am a little Godiva wallowing;
The spilt milk dampening my feet,
Of the lost sweetener lingering on my heavy tongue,
Slackening my nerves slipping past your safest touch.
I crave it all in a blooming reverie.
Filling with soon-to-be thorns;
Pricking my wrinkled fingers,
Soaking in tainted blood
Counting the sheep in my sleep,
I wish to yell,
"FUCK YOU!"
But the frog in my throat,
Is an urge to choke;
As I stare,
In your blurring reality,
Burning all inside of me.
For I was fool,
Of conjoined holy tools;
To an empty room,
Dressed by thoughts of doom.
It use to be kinda shiny.
It use to be kinda smile.
It use to be kinda worth while.
It use to be kinda dreams.
It use to be kinda the end of me.
It use to be kinda all that I wish to be.
It use to be kinda a love I know I'd never receive.
Because last time I checked,
I was standing there,
Holding my breath;
Unbeknownst it was a dare,
Enticing your smirk to never falter;
As I became the victim to your banter.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone