(She stands, breathes by one, two, three... razor injects through shiny green veins- but with beauty she screams, with cherub eyes she cries, and with soft silk fingertips she bleeds. Medicine cabinet, labeled colors of assorted candy sleeping pills. He shoves each each and every other down through his sick throat, praying with frantic hands that life will slowly disappear from him. Lonesome bedroom. Radio blares intricate noise. She's hiding in the corner. Gun control, single bullet thеory, roulette, red sprayеd walls. My conclusion, my one epitaph: Love will go crushed, but hate will crawl. Hate can be created and suffering will never be the same.)
( Swivel Stick )
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