They seem to kill me blantantly.
The irony is bliss.
Words running through my mind.
All the time.
At the most unfavorable times of night.
In the heat of a moment of love.
They are superior.
They are the worse drug and the best cure.
They make your thoughts sleepless nights
or sweet dreams till morning.
They make memories tears.
But tears of joy or sadness,
I don't know.
This is how we have to convey our emotions.
They keep us from fatal hands.
Get us to speak of the bad or the good.
Just don't let us go over the edge,
into our oblivion.