When you walk down that dark street, do you think of me?
When you dream of all that blood, do you think of me?
When you touch my leftovers, do you think of me?
When you think of your next victim, do you think of me?
Were you at my vigil, my requiem mass?
Did you read my eloquent autopsy report, or the news paper article, did that give you more?
Then you touched upon my very soul
Did they realize how you mentally tortured me and let me chase freedom, only to have it taken away from me?
When my picture was on television, did you think of yourself?
Were you proud of yourself is that why you kept me alive or so long, so you enjoy the celebrity states of your demented ways.
When they found me rotten to the bone, did you think of me?
How pretty I was, what my smile looked like, oh how you transformed me.
You took the light away from me and made it all go dark
Now I think of you, how you never sleep and when you do I am there.
Your days and nights belong to me
When you think of me, how we both consume each other now.
Carrie Ann kawa
04/2008
keep on posting...
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