Suicide of the soul

Meant no harm to the summers gold skies

To The wind in your hair, and saints in your eyes

The hushed rivers of sanction

Above torrents of mistakes

"For only the gun had no boundaries"

Only the illicit nature of its kiss

Scarred the morally correct

The front page your savior

Death on your porch every morning

Poor child; she was scared

With the revolver in hand

Pushed by the confinement of a nations conformity

The need for her to be an individual stolen

Her ache for eternal sleep to strong to bury

To extreme to attempt geniality

Nothing but wide eyes and a crooked grin.