Hearing you talks,
y'all trespassing my soul.
Numb and tainted,
the aching won't stop.
Clicking my pen
about a hundred times,
silently longing to save myself from murderous whispers of new invented stories.
Tsk... tis' I hate the most about this world,
Full of pointless eyes, judgemental souls.
What does it give you,
to revise stories 'bout a person?
20% truth; 80% imaginations
Inhaling evilness--for you; does it tastes like heaven?
Shaking, I decided to stand
Weirded and confused; your faces screamed as you heard my silent actions
Tapping you at the shoulder, sayin' my thoughts;
"Your minds are poisoned".
