Writing pages of words, for you to find you, but i have never preached about them.Your inner cries, the silent whimpers.
Restless . . . Agitated
You look us up, you whine about you. We see you, you are near. You held out your hand, to try ,endeavor help. You fleet around the corners, ramaging the bulks. All we could do is watch. So much so, we want to help you.
Drugs taken in, Words you listlessly absorb, order of events you attend to. You're still the zombie. One who open doors at 3 in the morning, endless walks up n down, unleashing your woes on us. You hate the zombie. So do we.
Saying we are the cause of it. Take a look at our faces, have you known us. In-out, day by day. Worries- we have our own. But you,in there, claim to be eniticed with little one. Its demented. So much so we desperately want to help you. I'm sorry...my origin.. Whisk 'n' Bake Personal Nook 12/04/2003 03:16:00 PM
