Sometimes ones perceptions,
Are not the only thing right at all.
Yet for me I only have myself.
Nevermind anything at all.
Because with you I have everything,
Everything in my life before has fallen down.
Yet I am not one who think am I
The one to sing you lullabies.
Those rhymes mean nothing to me or you and I know that.
Yet as with life sometimes one enjoys poetic lies.
Half truths designed for anyones comfort,
Yet no comfort at all.
You are my history girl, Anna-Marie.
Who helped me find myself and my place in viewing others.
Though one sees you as murder kin,
One cannot weep for those boys who touch you all o'er again.
Because you are my murderer girl.
Who helps remove the toxin from myself.
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