Dark Poetry
Young Lives Losthow much of me is a mysteryfor those who know, not my historyam i really that transparrentall things bared for them to seenothing known, nothing sacredby whom will never be metortured in my constant existenceand prosecuted for my resistencefrequent is judgement that i endurefleet is understanding from strangers eyesforever is my disapointmentlying in contemplation of my demise