the note by my body

renouncing my faith in my useless talents,
strange demented dark heartache and violent,
the sound of your voice was like poison to me,
only a knif to my wrists and now i sease to be,
i wonder if you’ll denie that you where the reason,
or if you’ll say sorry like sorrys in season,
but you’re never wrong. you’re all ways right,
i wonder if you’ll miss me on a cold winter’s night,
maybe in years in the dicgionary there will be.
lissted under pain…hurt. heartache. then me