If
all the flowers faded away
And if all the storm clouds decided to
stay
Then you would find me each hour the same
She is
tomorrow...
...and I am today
Well
all just assume.
Merely on a whim, we point our fingers and
convict.
Those who hurt or kill;
Monsters.
The "scum"
of society.
They are flawed.
They have no use here on
earth.
But...
...what
if they never asked to become a monster?
They never wished for
anyone to die:
Not mothers
or daughters;
Fathers
or
brothers.
No one.
It
brews deep inside, building up like a storm.
Anger.
Rage.
Frustration.
It all pours into one emotion
and
creates this monster,
imperfect yet flawless in design.
It
feeds off of feelings:
annoyance,
infuriation.
It preys on
those
who care the most,
hold the most precious,
and first
and foremost,
who love the most.
And
if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong
She is the sunlight and
the sun is gone.
The
monster falls in love...
How can that be?
It
tortures itself with all of this
raw emotion
building up inside
it's swelling heart.
It
strangles itself; asphyxiated on
that emotion
that hurts so
much.
Can
a monster really cry...?
That angel doth remind
the monster of
undaunting beauty.
When
farthest from comfort,
then the monster prounces
upon it's
prey.
Shame on that angel
For loving
such a vial creature...
If
loving her is a heartache for me
And if holding her means thIat I
have to bleed
Then I am the martyr and love is to blame
She is
the healing and I am the pain
She lives in a daydream where I
don't belong
She is the sunlight...
... and the sun is gone