untitled (age 12)

sigh

Filling my needs with her acting ablities
I'm falling into a pit of hyprocrasy
Telling fake hoods
of a childhood imagined
Blantant lies she tells through tears
crucifing my soul in spite
she sits below a new born moon
screaming about a goddly saint
Will she ever be
The person I use to be
Sacres runes formed by an existing whore
I'm becoming a bore
with petty fears
and harmonious flaws
she sacraficing me to her gods
far below the rocky waterfalls.