The Death of Innocence
She is dead.
Everything he once loved is gone.
That pure white snow that he once loved has all but melted away.
Her death isn't just on me,
the blame falls to you and the many people who,
held out a hand to help me up.
I know the night she died.
It was the night that the last thing he loved about her died.
Her innocent blood,
spilled upon him,
a stranger,
not he,
her first love,
like was promised.
She was not the only casualty.
I know the day he died too.
She asked him if he still he loved her,
and he said,
“I love you, babe, pumpkin..., my little Blossom,"
and in that I heard,
the last of he who she loved die and fade away.
That last sentence it took all of who he was to say,
and now he is gone just as she is.
The way he looked at her with his perfect sky blue eyes,
so filled with love is all but gone, and is so bitterly cold.
I who now take her place,
am built on, the cold,
bitterness,
and hatred that she left behind for you.
And I now find the things he once never wanted her to do are the things that I
find most fun.
The things she did to spite him.
To ease the pain of the loss of him,
things she did to kill herself.
I am built of none of the fair things she once treasured,
sweet innocence,
purity,
hope and joy,
and mostly the once pure and true love of him.
I am built of the bitter burn of vodka,
an amazing high,
and the sweet fiery burn of lust
that makes me no longer dwell on the bitter sweet memories of her and him.
The night she dealt herself the death blow,
I was born.
But why do I who did not love him still cry for the loss of him,
why do I still cry for the loss of that once so perfect love,
why do I still cry for the death of him and her?
Because I am bound to bear the memories she made with him,
the memories of how it felt in his arms,
the sweet taste of him, the memories,
of what it felt like to feel your very heart break,
the memories of the salty taste of all the tears she cried for him,
and to live
with all the lies you told her,
and all the lies she want to believe,
because she thought somewhere in you he was still there.
But by then your blue eyes were cold.
And no love and comfort was to be found in them.
Why do I still long for you?
Because I know that you cannot erase the memories that you have of him
and her,
and I know that you still felt some pain,
when you broke her heart,
when you plunged into her the first sword of her demise.
Why do I still do things just to get a reaction out of you?
Because I know that you still remember that pure white snow that he once
loved so much,
I want You to see how I have ruined it,
and I want you to think about it,
I want to be on your mind,
because even though they are both long dead,
I know it was your arms that once held me .
Your lips that I once kissed.
For I am no longer HIS sweet Blossom,
I am YOUR drunken whore,
and you are no longer HER Dumpling,
YOU are MY Fat ass walrus.
Everything he once loved is gone.
That pure white snow that he once loved has all but melted away.
Her death isn't just on me,
the blame falls to you and the many people who,
held out a hand to help me up.
I know the night she died.
It was the night that the last thing he loved about her died.
Her innocent blood,
spilled upon him,
a stranger,
not he,
her first love,
like was promised.
She was not the only casualty.
I know the day he died too.
She asked him if he still he loved her,
and he said,
“I love you, babe, pumpkin..., my little Blossom,"
and in that I heard,
the last of he who she loved die and fade away.
That last sentence it took all of who he was to say,
and now he is gone just as she is.
The way he looked at her with his perfect sky blue eyes,
so filled with love is all but gone, and is so bitterly cold.
I who now take her place,
am built on, the cold,
bitterness,
and hatred that she left behind for you.
And I now find the things he once never wanted her to do are the things that I
find most fun.
The things she did to spite him.
To ease the pain of the loss of him,
things she did to kill herself.
I am built of none of the fair things she once treasured,
sweet innocence,
purity,
hope and joy,
and mostly the once pure and true love of him.
I am built of the bitter burn of vodka,
an amazing high,
and the sweet fiery burn of lust
that makes me no longer dwell on the bitter sweet memories of her and him.
The night she dealt herself the death blow,
I was born.
But why do I who did not love him still cry for the loss of him,
why do I still cry for the loss of that once so perfect love,
why do I still cry for the death of him and her?
Because I am bound to bear the memories she made with him,
the memories of how it felt in his arms,
the sweet taste of him, the memories,
of what it felt like to feel your very heart break,
the memories of the salty taste of all the tears she cried for him,
and to live
with all the lies you told her,
and all the lies she want to believe,
because she thought somewhere in you he was still there.
But by then your blue eyes were cold.
And no love and comfort was to be found in them.
Why do I still long for you?
Because I know that you cannot erase the memories that you have of him
and her,
and I know that you still felt some pain,
when you broke her heart,
when you plunged into her the first sword of her demise.
Why do I still do things just to get a reaction out of you?
Because I know that you still remember that pure white snow that he once
loved so much,
I want You to see how I have ruined it,
and I want you to think about it,
I want to be on your mind,
because even though they are both long dead,
I know it was your arms that once held me .
Your lips that I once kissed.
For I am no longer HIS sweet Blossom,
I am YOUR drunken whore,
and you are no longer HER Dumpling,
YOU are MY Fat ass walrus.