What Do You Want From Me?

Fri, 07/11/2014 - 14:53 -- CristiF

Those who follow me wherever I go…

Their faces like porcelain painted black,

You say they’re not real, but they are…I know.

Their hair is like water without the flow.

Their hands:  cold, thin, long bones about to crack,

Those who follow me wherever I go…

Their eyes are so large and full of sorrow.

Their teeth:  like vampires, sharp as a tack,

You say they’re not real, but they are…I know.

Their hearts:  hard as stone, dark, buried in snow,

Their arms:  they reach out, trying to attack,

Those who follow me wherever I go…

They want my life to keep, not to borrow.

Ev’rytime I run, hide, cry, they keep track.

You say they’re not real, but they are…I know.

They come closer; wait for weakness to show,

Their voices call out to me, say, “Come back.”

Those who follow me wherever I go…

You say they’re not real, but they are…I know.

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