Comments about Mary Bailly
I am normal,
though I've been called strange.
I do not hide,
though I am rarely to be seen.
I have tried to seek,
comming up empty every time.
Hurt in more ways than one,
I have cried myself to sleep.
Feeling used and used,
a marrionette with broken strings.
I feel the rain
on my face.
The cold remembrance of existance
a last hurrah for the human race.
I hold it dearer to mine own,
than hidden desires of wanton faith.
The God I believe can save a life,
turned from me in blatant distaste.
Lost am I,
in thoughts and...