Drip, Drip, Drip.
Oh how I adore my own handi-work,
The essence of life dripping,
Soiling my carpet.
I'm not insane,
Hell no... Here you're looking at it wrong,
Invert your view,
And the glass is half-full.
No, I'm not insane,
Maybe "in" sanity but not insane.
What you think I'm bad,
Because I slit my wrists?
I'm hurting you?
Get over your self,
You never could mean that much to me.
You never wanted to.
You just sat in an idylic world,
I hate you,
Your own where you're happy... And a liar.
Alas let me tell you,
About the beauty of death.
Peace, freedom and quiet.
"He wont be there, or I'd be in hell"
This poem is copyright 2003 Petyr, to whom comments may be sent.
