I wish I was an angel,
In this strange world.
Who writes this fable,
I can never know.
The lustrous bites from your soft lips,
Are like branding on my skin.
And then you unleash the wrathful whips,
"I can't come back to you".
Anger helps me stay alive,
There is too much guilt to live with.
There is no sense to derive,
From all of this madness.
The anger makes the scars more dark,
And I scratch it until the blood flows.
God strike me down if I do it to spark,
Some sense of pity or sympathy.
That's why I wish I was an angel,
With pure and fair skin that glows.
No mistakes scarred upon their label,
But lacking my psychotic love fable!
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