Laying in bed, but not dreaming
Thoughts of every horrid living thing ive done replaces my sleepiness.
Those red paintings I drew on my thighs today, burn in pleasure.
I hear my guardians in the next room drowning there life with a soothing liquid posion.
You know, smelling the decaying roses while I'm six feet under seems rather pleasent to me.
Blissfully closing my eyes to see the twilight, promising myself,
that I wont be so lonley forever, that someone might care, that my parents could bear to look at me..
That I will be happy, purely and perfectly happy.
