Petes Poetry
My Crazy Angel.
Bleeding and broken in lies,
She drapes herself in this creative disguise.
The cold hearted truth she will bare,
A misrable soul to love, hate and share.
She knows herself inside out,
The lables she does not care.
She knows herself without a doubt,
But has nothing else to wear.
Skitzoid, Addict and depressant,
Are garments of hers and mine.
While beauty, love and happiness,
Hang on the clothes line.
She washes away love,
While addictions send her dry.
She irons out hope,
While depession makes her cry.
Teardrops laced with vices,
Stain the fabric of her pride.
Her rags hold riches,
In which I confide.
Pete.
Copyright (C) Peter Riddoch 2004
She drapes herself in this creative disguise.
The cold hearted truth she will bare,
A misrable soul to love, hate and share.
She knows herself inside out,
The lables she does not care.
She knows herself without a doubt,
But has nothing else to wear.
Skitzoid, Addict and depressant,
Are garments of hers and mine.
While beauty, love and happiness,
Hang on the clothes line.
She washes away love,
While addictions send her dry.
She irons out hope,
While depession makes her cry.
Teardrops laced with vices,
Stain the fabric of her pride.
Her rags hold riches,
In which I confide.
Pete.
Copyright (C) Peter Riddoch 2004
