My poor soul is wrought and twisted
It's drowning in the greasy filth
That made its way inside of me
With a dicieving-lover's stealth
It grows with every passing second
Threatening to choke me up
What do I do to make it better?
What do I do to make it stop?
Have I reached my breaking point?
How much longer will I last?
Will I ever really crawl out
From this grave-hole of my past?
Will I ever find the future
That somewhere before me lies?
I can't see it through the filth
Rising up behind my eyes
My tears're black-it's no mascara
It's what I look like from inside
It's pouring out over the edges
And drowning is the only way to hide
Will I find the strength to surface?
Will I become an empty shell?
Is it blood or filth inside my vains?
I can no longer really tell...
Filth Diffusion
© Copyright: Марина Фордвэкс, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109062301108
Свидетельство о публикации №109062301108
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