third exams emptybut no questions leftshivers down my spineGod has committed theftfor good reason of courseyet your body still lingersnothing could ever be as coldas cold as your fingers
I wish I could turn back timeto before it all went wrongor to that time when I feltthe ashes burning under my feet as I walked through hellWhen I was trying to climb the stairs to heavenfeeling the urge to see you once moreFor I am only Frankensteina monster created by manmy past has made me who I am todaynot the nice person you see before youbut the child of Dracula as some could sayYou may wipe off my tearsbut you will never understandyou may try to protect mebut when you see my real selfyou will kill me once more
Do not look at meFor all my hair has abandoned my bodyI need you to be braveDo not be like me, a slaveI have fallenMy wings brokeColour has left my eyesNo more hair to strokeAlthough I don't want you to leaveI'm the one leavingI know you'll be sadI know you'll be grievingBut rather live for meAnd that's when you'll seeHow good life can beHow much you're actually free
Well congratulations!I yelled to myself in the mirrorI got promoted from side-chick to reboundall he can think about is herBut what did I expect?that he'd be happy with just me?because he's worth not only the fight but the warhappy is all I want him to beBut how am I not enough?I know it's difficult as hellthought that I was unwantedbut then I fellI tripped and saw himI fell really hardso what do I do now?his heart is now scarred
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.