The Lead.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Not sure right now.

Submitted: February 14, 2012

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Submitted: February 14, 2012

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Your crimson blood overflows
and slightly drips on my palms.
leaving the scars,
that forever count your mistake.

It burns my hands,
so I cry out
And beg for it to stop.
You cry out too.
But you love how it hurts
it seems,

You crave its ripping sensation
as a passion
like an obsession.
And I stare,
holding you up,
suffering the pain that you should of felt.

Like a slave, I host you up on my shoulder
Your body feels limp, drained.

Soft muttering keeps you awake
soft quiet whispers keep you awake.
And if that's all I have, I'll keep whispering
telling you things you want to hear
things i didn't want to say

But its the scars that cringe me to say them,
because if I don't they'll trip us
I'll drop you and you'll fall
down the spiral pit beneath us.

Where I cant grab, where I cant feel
and you'll be laughing all the way.

Is it selfish keeping you grounded?
When you'd enjoy the trip.

And I'm the one keeping you back.
With a chain fastened across my hip
leashing you away.

You wanted to go but i wont let you.
I wont.

You always mumbled though, "You knew best."
Even while I drag you with me
your body unmoving, weak
You still say:

"You knew best. You knew best."


 


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