04/04/2006
Singing, chanting, softly dance, in and out of my depressing trance.
Sleeping quietly in that bed, bloody sheets that held the dead.
Curl them up and tuck them tight, and pray that it will end tonight.
While at the door my Dark Prince waits, with bleeding wrists and love to make.
Yet slip I down into the cold, with whispers in the nights echo.
I heard it then, again, and there, telling me he was never near.
Whispers softly in my brain, reminding me I'm no more sane.
And turn I round, beneath, about, until the whispers are a shout.
The lies! The lies, I know what's true, and how I could not be his view.
Oh, cursed it is, this ugly skin, How I wish I could be thin.
I close my eyes and wish that God, would touch me with his beauty rod.
Turn me fair to touch his heart, that I'd become his work of art.
Then treasure me in place of them, and only need my longing skin.
Finally I drift to sleep, with all the whispers singing sweet.
"I'm not enough" the thought, the pain, How will I ever trust again?
