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Literature Text
I cannot find redemption
In God
I can find it in myself
For myself
By myself
Because I am a Satanist
I am what the world should revolve around
And I am the center of the universe
Of my universe
And I shall put me before anyone else
For the first time in my life
I will think about myself
Before others
Because others have themselves
And I have me
I need me
There is a light in me
That I lit myself
For me
And now I intend to keep it on
So I can glow and be free
From the old me
And be
The new
ME
In God
I can find it in myself
For myself
By myself
Because I am a Satanist
I am what the world should revolve around
And I am the center of the universe
Of my universe
And I shall put me before anyone else
For the first time in my life
I will think about myself
Before others
Because others have themselves
And I have me
I need me
There is a light in me
That I lit myself
For me
And now I intend to keep it on
So I can glow and be free
From the old me
And be
The new
ME
Literature
I Can't Escape You
My sunshine is black.
Your tongue still scars broken souls.
My songbird falls dead.
Literature
White Pills, Lights and Lies
I always said from the start no one could save me. Not my parents, not the doctors, not myself. I didn't really want to be saved.
Four o clock in the morning, found lying on the floor of my bedroom, a breath away from death, with a bottle of pills scattered across the floor. So I had everything, or so it seemed to others. I just wanted to get away. It wasn't hard to take the pills. All I had to do was think of everything that made me cry, everything they did to hurt me. No one would have missed me if I were gone..
Sometimes hell seems more inviting than life. Maybe life is hell
They got the phone and dialled. Flashing lights and oxygen ma
Literature
Skeleton
I knew a pretty girl
Who couldn’t see her own face,
the magnitude of her grace,
or, perhaps she didn’t want to,
But the boys did.
I knew a pretty girl
Who had a mirror that lied.
It choked and it spat out
just what she despised:
The noise.
The screech.
The howl
of intolerable imperfection.
Not worthy of love,
She had no face.
The boys saw that, too.
The emptiness of her eyes
simply reflected the lips that
grasped her neck.
The anonymous hands
at her hips
Drove her train of thought to a wreck.
Derailed.
I knew a pretty girl
Who drank poison
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Comments1
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really nice work.