Thoughts of a Disturbed Boy
It started as a cute little high school
Then elevated into a angst ridden sting
How am I to
control this madness?
This feeling of hate and ultimately sadness
A razor; a piece of metal of mediocre size,
Or an implement of my impending demise?
Will the Lord shine his rays
And give me direction that I most certainly need
am I to question the work of "God"?
I am Humanity and I will take everything from that sod.
There will be no mercy on my
Why should I give mercy when he thinks he is the best?
God should burn in the flames my Lord must endure.
Why punish us when you know that we are pure?