Scorned...

To love me not my love
Is to kill me my love.
To fall your style and charismatic procedure
Of the life I once lived,
Is to be taken away from the easy wine I drink
And the fermented grain of happiness.
To take my heart and sacrifice it before the deities of your soul,
Is just like squeezing out the consistent beating of my heart,
The only organ that could help the traits of the warriors flow through my blood stream.
To hate me,
Is a gift on my behalf
'Cause you don't care about the faculty of my knowledge
And the purpose of my logic
And the calculations of my emotions.
To hate me,
Is a gift on my behalf...

By Abigail Hinds

>>

Copyright � 1998-2000. All rights reserved.