Creating Our Sins - Salem



Times flies,

It stays up high above the ground.

I try to come to terms

With my future tense.



I despise conformity,

The lies, the clenched fists.

I wish that I could feel,

Touch of sanity.

I wish that I could,

Touch of sanity.



Lies of concrete.

As hard as stone, as cold as steel.

Dry bones, broken.

Help me, please, I need to feel.



Times flies,

It stays up high above the ground.

I try to come to terms

With my future tense.



They want me to die.

The memory of pain I've known,

Piercing, poignant pain.

I vow to never feel again.



I despise conformity,

The lies, the clenched fists.

I wish that I could feel,

Touch of sanity.



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