If every vampire who said he was at the Crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Woodstock.
I can't afford a bliss of giving in,
I can't comfort myself with losing hope,
Beloved, you are not a prize to win
And there's no challenge and no battlefield, nope.

I have a feel that no one understands:
There is no fate. No boundaries, no pressure,
And while it seems to all I simply stand,
I'm thinking that I move in right direction.

My heart still bleads, but yet it's going on
And anxious, 'cause I have to skip some turns.
My silence is a tool, as were my word,
But seems like I believe in unicorns.

Attacker, now my task is castle defend.
It thrills me I don't know, to what end.

@темы: Poems, william the bloody