funeral for the birthday boy.

and the crowd dressed in black.
veils.
the wreath of grief
upon our heads.
my head under ground.
and your tears above ground.
soil in my eyes.
and soil in all your hearts.heavy as mud.
do you miss my eyes.
i used to cry bitter cold tears.cold as ice.
but now im dry.
and warm.
below your bodies
but above your souls.
i rest.

fifteenth of eleven in 86.

turning 19 in abit...awesome shit. still young though but nothing wrong with youth cos peter pan's still a joy.let me enjoy my youth and let me cry if i want to too cos its my fuckin party.