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Posted: Sat May 12, 2007 10:33 am
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She walks down lonely back streets, Her pants are ripped and torn; She used to be a someone, Now she’s nothing anymore.
And yet, down in her memory, She remembers how it was Before she lost the life she knew. She’s scarred and scared because
Of little things we cannot know. Those things that eat away... They tatter the wings of angels Those things she cannot say...
Those moments build up walls That tower to the sky, And no matter how they flutter Her wings no longer fly.
For they are tattered, torn, and bent, But no one seems to see How far away this young one is From what she used to be.
The ripped up pants accentuate The tatters in her wings, And just to fly once more, I know She would give anything...
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Posted: Sat May 12, 2007 3:56 pm
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Posted: Tue May 15, 2007 8:57 am
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Posted: Sun Jun 17, 2007 12:28 am
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Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 10:00 am
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Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 2:38 pm
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 9:19 pm
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 9:22 pm
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 9:23 pm
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 10:19 pm
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2007 7:07 am
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2007 10:27 pm
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Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2007 10:22 pm
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Posted: Wed Jan 23, 2008 12:32 am
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Jan 23, 2008 9:28 am
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