Posted by Olsen Potter in


I am free like the wind, yet imprisoned like a dog
I can love with my heart, and hate with my passion.
I feel the heat of blood, running down my wrist
My needs are filled, yet I know not satisfaction.

I am empty with no knowlegde, wisdom shines in my eyes
I am like the blade that I hold in my hand
Cold to the touch, sharp against skin
In the end my body will obey my command.

Red, drying red... that blur enters my senses
Everyone will be green with envy of me
Purple gowns and golden crowns are awaiting
in a world where no sadness will be...

-Olsen Potter-

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 10, 2005 at 2:35 PM and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .


This is very alive.

The use of color, the part where you talk about the heat of blood, the whole thing.

9/11/2005 4:36 PM

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