A passion for life with a story to tell, unlikeliest confidence to chat to every girl, he is lonely, hidden, insecure at fault, incredibly dangerous with desire that’s wrought, a dinner with one, a drink in an inn, gifts of exquisitiveness thrown in the bin, living with failure, history of sin, forger of a craft extraordinarily din.
The headline reads some tragic news, another sad story adding to the blues....... Nineteen year old, drowns in a bath, silenced with a rope in midst of a laugh, newspaper reports the tragedy and guile of a young lady of misfortune, crazy and wild.
A demeanour bright, clothes to match then torn off in the midst of a tragic fight, Walker of fashion, lady of the night, met the young man, she thought he was great but never realised that he was full of such hate, bottle of gin later, refusal of sex, as if his soul is encarcerated by some kind of hex, he had a mind of troubled beguile, paranoia felt a hated refrain, finished the girl with no thought of pain, strangled and drown the confident lady, releasing her gain.
Encountering the situation again and again, wallowing in guilt not likely without sin, desperate for passionate love to be won, the need to be a persons number one, incredibly unlikely to enjoy such fun, always wanting an unwanted run, love cannot be strangled or chained up with need, that kind of desire will only end one way, all alone with another death on another day, he could never achieve anything in any way.
Investigation, closing the net, they wanted to teach him a lesson he’d never forget, cornering the suspect by a bridge, he climbed high to escape attention, “come on down”, “we will look after you”, ‘I can’t take anymore’ he said, tying a rope above his head, ‘I never meant to, but they laughed’ , “who laughed”, ‘all of them, no one cared’ I just wanted love’. “Come down and we will help you”, born to a mother on drugs and a father shot dead by the feds, the young man tragically died that day, a piercing sound rang out from below, not the police who shot him down but the young girls father who’s daughter had drowned, there he swung, not a sound, No one knew his name or cared, come what may and one may ask, why should they?.
The headline reads some tragic news, another sad story adding to the blues....... Nineteen year old, drowns in a bath, silenced with a rope in midst of a laugh, newspaper reports the tragedy and guile of a young lady of misfortune, crazy and wild.
A demeanour bright, clothes to match then torn off in the midst of a tragic fight, Walker of fashion, lady of the night, met the young man, she thought he was great but never realised that he was full of such hate, bottle of gin later, refusal of sex, as if his soul is encarcerated by some kind of hex, he had a mind of troubled beguile, paranoia felt a hated refrain, finished the girl with no thought of pain, strangled and drown the confident lady, releasing her gain.
Encountering the situation again and again, wallowing in guilt not likely without sin, desperate for passionate love to be won, the need to be a persons number one, incredibly unlikely to enjoy such fun, always wanting an unwanted run, love cannot be strangled or chained up with need, that kind of desire will only end one way, all alone with another death on another day, he could never achieve anything in any way.
Investigation, closing the net, they wanted to teach him a lesson he’d never forget, cornering the suspect by a bridge, he climbed high to escape attention, “come on down”, “we will look after you”, ‘I can’t take anymore’ he said, tying a rope above his head, ‘I never meant to, but they laughed’ , “who laughed”, ‘all of them, no one cared’ I just wanted love’. “Come down and we will help you”, born to a mother on drugs and a father shot dead by the feds, the young man tragically died that day, a piercing sound rang out from below, not the police who shot him down but the young girls father who’s daughter had drowned, there he swung, not a sound, No one knew his name or cared, come what may and one may ask, why should they?.
No comments:
Post a Comment