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Welcome. Welcome to my gothic nightmare. Here, you will find poetry, pictures of me, and all the pain and torment of a teen in our times. Life isn't worth living. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Killyourself. Killyourself. Killyourself.Killyourself.Killyourself. |
Poetry by MeNow graveyard darkness descends
And I am sad, my world ends.
And I mourn for it is she that I crave,
For she is cold in her gothic grave
And gory, and covered with mud,
The blood, oh, the blood, the blood!
It rains down like tears
My tears, for her, and these oh, so real fears,
Upon the despairing earth.
False are we now, in our morbid dance, so lacking in mirth
False were their promises of joy.
I mourn, for to her I was but a toy.
She mourns, though she is dead,
She mourns, for the loss of her lover, Fred
She is cold as he was in life,
No love for such a wretch as I, so I take my knife,
I cry,
As I die. |
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The rage is like a burning kill.
Kill the death to dying's bleed.
Blood of bleeding dying rage.
Blood, death, kill, rage burn.
I die, for I
Cry, when I
Sigh, cuz I
. . . do? |
| Sorrow! |
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