sad for all the time my embrace was empty of you
sad for being stubborn to be sad
sad for touching objects baring your presence
i have my personal justice written across my pulse
constant thoughts and very clear needs
my personal justice is just that: personal
like a thief whose money you're carrying
what was on your mind?
'i can't touch her with cold hands'
between us was not the place for tenderness
still you couldn't help it..
one day there was a proud girl
not so proud as scared of the new rules
she was raised by the old ones, she believed in the right things to do..
you seemed wrong..
My heart is pulsing lava
thick burning pain through my veins
I woke up to the hurting