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Array
(
[sid] => 108102
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Axe-Murderers and Hurricanes
[time] => 2005-10-19 23:19:23
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Late at night, I hang up the phone, Don't make a peep, or he'll find out I'm home. Here comes mister Horror, Full of deathly wine sips. The arm of a black cloak lifts itself, And into my shaking heart, an edge slips. Here comes the life, The life of the dead. Here comes the bullets, In the Hurricane's head. Twisting around, like Death does with my words, Axe-Murderer comes to throw you out of bed. Toss you on the floor, And take all you had saved, For Marriage, For slaughter, For God and his slaves. For Sheep that had risen to prepare out your grave. He owns you now, and laughs at your struggle. The whirling winds crackling as water levels bubble. Swirls and Twirls and overrated wood boards, Nothing can save you, when he's pulled all your cords. Trashed out your morals, thrown away your rights. Come straight from the heaven's stars in the blackest of nights. Oh how yells penetrate his fragile ears, And he'll kill you so swiftly for bringing him tears. But SHHHHH!!! He's beside you, He'll give you love and die too, But don't ever complain, Don't ever make a sound, Don't think for yourself, For if he found out, You'll join all the heaps, Of bodies under sheets, and the rows and the columns, all stretched along the shelves. Never again to see his smile, Or find out his love was truly worthwhile, Because you talk too much, Like the rest of the world. There's nothing special he sees in you, And there's no reason to be curled, in such a fetal position, Unless you enjoy submission. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 205 [topic] => 13 [informant] => AssassinatorGirl [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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