I tried to write my thoughts. Poems.

Resurrection.

She smelt like a thrift store,

But she dressed like a queen.

That burn in her eyes,

A yearn to survive.

Told betrayal in her teens.

His manhood hit the hardwood,

He understood where they stood.

Thought, he could not.

Breathe.

He never lived to tell,

Never saw at all.

His ears were deaf, you see.

"There is no hope, no future, no resurrection in me."

And now she's backwards,

But always been the same.

The screws inside her head,

Rattle along with loose change.

She was a radioactive drama,

On a karma filled stage.

He was a sugar-tongued admirer.

"Oh, I knew I couldn't be saved."