I wake
and it lingers...
If I could show you what you've done
Written out across my arms...
the walls bleed of you
your essence seeping through...
Behind each painting,
Lies an echo of pain...
After hearing my father's death news
At the time, I lost my spiritual fuse...
Mrs. Butterworth talking
Kangaroo rides in the pool...
Before the great death
I must be so smooth...
A little three year old
scampers crossed a creek...
I was half way it seems
Between your world and hell...
If I could I'd steal your final breath
Watch you just lay there and die...
There isn't enough ink
to write under a moonlit night...
I am here
But far away...