Strange Nights of Lucid Convictions
This is a strange night of lucid conviction.
Our stories are made up-tales of fiction.
We lie all day and all night through
I get the genuine picture of you.
You cry and try to cleanse your name.
I sigh and try to end this game.
Oh my, how small you are sometimes.
Living with those felony crimes.
And then you say: "Let's call it quits!"
Now it's my turn to lose my wits.
I cry and scream and slam the doors.
I don't want to end our domestic wars.
Cause where will we be and where do I go?
When I got no more dishes to throw.
And how could I possibly live through a night
without our endless fuss and fights.
Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 369 times
Written on 2006-09-22 at 23:25
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