she is unreal, an illusion to my mind
she sits in a wooden chair in a white room
with her hair dangling down
dirty with black smudges on her face
and calluses on her skin
black fingernails chipped and full of dirt
she is unreal, an illusion to your mind
she's the one who you see past by
thinking that you're just seeing things
she's the voice that taunts you to insanity
cold to the touch, always silent
showing what she has been through
in her hollow eyes
in the shadows that i have created
she comes to me, giving out her hand
leading me through a dark tunnel
screams and cries echos as we
run to the other end,
the never ending end of my story...
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--
--
Let's jump upon the sharp swords
And cut away our smiles
Without the threat of Death
There's no reason to live at all
- The Reflecting God by Marilyn Manson
--
Nyx
------------------
"There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create."
Charles Baudelaire (1821 - 1867), Mon Coeur Mis a Nu, XXII
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