| My depression is a cold infection, putrifieing as I lye awake in bed, with your image spinning in my head, I can hear your voice, see your eyes, and wish I was dreaming. Clearly, I'm not crazy, just insane, maybe, if I stopped careing, it would all go away. But I care, not for love, not for life, but for you. My slave, my whore, my Sweet bleeding Angel. Self suicide, seems justified, when it comes to bitter lonly thoughts, I might just crucifie, my perfect high, to recognize I'm already dead... I know I'v neglected you these past few nights, but keep in mind, you will find, this entire time I was with you. And you still missed. ME! FORGET THE STOPS, ABSORB THE PAIN!. REMEMBER I'LL RETURN ONE DAY, BACK TO MY GRAVE. MY SLAVE!. MY WHORE!. MY SWEET BLEEDING ANGEL!. My sweet> bleeding> angel>.... |
