By suicide I don't mean death
I let go of my final breath
To dream on to another place
Where noone knows my broken face
Where noone knows my crying eyes
Where noone knows my see-through lies
Where I don't smile because I must
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
By suicide I don't mean pain
Jet black horses on a ghostly rein
By letting go of what you've done
I know the battle is almost won
Leave me now, I have to go
It's not what I feel, it's what I know
If you won't hold me, then say goodnight
I know I can still win this fight















Comments
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¤ jennifer ¤
deviant-artwork
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I speak in prose, and let him rymes make.
--Chaucer.
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I speak in prose, and let him rymes make.
--Chaucer.
actually, where it says golden, its meant to say ghostly, my bad
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I speak in prose, and let him rymes make.
--Chaucer.
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~* Blood lose: Effective pain relief *~
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