Wounded
Wounded
A riddle in the middle
To take the token
before it´s truly broken
by the meaning of jealousy
a knive held by a life
hold in the day, past his way
several times, coming back
by the meaning of jealousy
A shiver through a body
A deep shade made it bloody
Then would it be a wound
Like silence with no sound?
Is the hunger still as quiet?
The stake still as fried?
I got and I am to be, and one lives on
by the meaning of jealousy
A riddle in the middle
To take the token
before it´s truly broken
by the meaning of jealousy
a knive held by a life
hold in the day, past his way
several times, coming back
by the meaning of jealousy
A shiver through a body
A deep shade made it bloody
Then would it be a wound
Like silence with no sound?
Is the hunger still as quiet?
The stake still as fried?
I got and I am to be, and one lives on
by the meaning of jealousy
Reacties op dit gedicht
| Angel_of_bloody_death: | Maandag, januari 03, 2005 23:10 |
| ik vind het noch thans mooi wsl heb jij geen smaak... | |
| glitter: | Zondag, april 18, 2004 12:05 |
| stom ik vind dit maar niets | |
Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: Nick | 
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| Gecontroleerd door: Frummel | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 20 augustus 2002 | ||
| Thema's: | ||