KittyKittyWaa

The show of hate in her eyes, Did not turn to surprise, When he drew a knife in his hand, And raised it to the skies. She started to scream, And a smile he did beam, He stabbed her once, And blood started to stream. She fell to the floor, And screamed once more, He took her in his arms, And left through the door. To the closest stream he went, On his knees he lent, Into the water she was thrown, And down the stream she was sent. Blood followed her like a trail, But to hear her screams, people did fail, He knew that he had done wrong, And he was to be put into jail. To the house to clean his mess, He did go in great distre

There are some things in life that no matter how many time you clean the surface, you can never wash away the foundation. That street corner, the lane way near that beach, the water with the naked bodies, the jacket he wore. Everything that holds a memory from that time so long ago, I am forever running into. That time and place. One tries so hard to forget him, as the memories hold pain. Yet every marker burns and jumps at you, Like a cat on heat.

If I asked you to put me out of my perpetual misery, would you kill me? If I pleaded that you end all your crying for my pain, would you listen? If I told you to leave me alone while I battled my hurt, would you walk away? If I demanded you show no sympathy while I was dying inside, would you sit there in silence? If I asked you not to kiss me, for I would miss you far too much, would you remain distant? If I begged you not to love me because of the pleasure it would let me feel, would you hide your emotions? If you did these mindless things through listening to my insanity, how could I believe you really care?