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Murder this tiny thing in me,
viscious, it has such sharp claws.
It gnaws where it knows to gnaw
and it hurts like being stabbed.

When the darkness grows
I will be there.
Hollow like a teardrop on a drum.
You can pretend I'm close.
I will be there.
Hollow like a teardrop on a drum.

I should stab it, shouldn't I?
We are bound together when we die.
Two souls met and intermingled;
their hearts are scars and pain.

When you lose all control
I will be there.
Hollow like a teardrop on a drum.
When sour blood flows
I will be there.
Hollow like a teardrop on a drum.
©2005-2009 ~Errorware
:iconerrorware:

Author's Comments

I wrote this a couple of years ago, also on Poetry.crap, and found this place to be a much better home for it.

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June 8, 2005
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