Twisted Poem by Teresa Duncan

Twisted, is what I could be
When I sit back and think the thoughts running through my head.

Twisted, is what I want to be
When I see the killing of you by the hands that are me.

All flock together, birds of a feather
Sick as a society, dictated by a socialist of no confession

Demented, are the one's that 'We' let choose
How we compramise this little thing that we call

'Life'