We can never be sorry for the things we did for love…...
It’s my Turn I used to touch the soil And felt its filth on my being Scarcity and pain blending with the color of my skin I used to walk on the path Of crooked gravels and disrupted lines Laden with endless tortured times I used to tolerate blisters and bruises Underneath the layers of my heart And sleep with it tucked in my deranged pride I run away on Sundays with my Nickleback To loose the angst of my shock I married cascades of terror and hatred And served the master of my fright and shame I... Sign in to see full entry.