Tuesday, August 10, 2004

What you call yourself.

The poison of your mood has infected me. I can feel it spreading through my body. The blackness. And you did it on purpose. Stop looking at me like that. Stop talking to me like that. I do not want to share this pain with you tonight. I will not share this burden with you. You take so eagerly of my joy, share so quickly your fowl mood. I keep you at arms length because you claw at me. No one can hurt me like you can. Innocent. That is what you call yourself. But you are stained and you look to stain me as well. I am not like you. I am innocent. I am innocent. I am innocent.

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