Updated 12-13-11 at 07:48 AM by CaughtBetween
I can't regret it, but I could end this.
Broken silver spoon, somewhere dirtied in my youth.
Lost in transcript.
I can't forget it. Skin is precious.
So is blood to live and when loved.
It should not be beaten.
When the fluid slips through,
I become cold and numb;
and so I ask you,
"What is love?"
Crimson, porcelain night.
It should be easy to fall asleep tonight...