and if this isn't a sin deriving pleasure and pain from pain and pleasure i don't want to be here anymore
with dew glistening on my shoulders longing for things lost that were never had to begin with.
its mourningtime and if i had ever awakened i would have gone to sleep hours ago to live now.
its naughttime and if i could write the wrongs i wouldn't have had to set upon my world
and pull the sheets over the day. i could have let the shadows be spied and illy luminated
then cast down and out but it's light inside the walls and dark inside these walls
and to shoot out the light for shades to match all i've got are triggers and a pointed tongue
for its actions speak louder than words will ever pierce.