This crimson red,
The color of hate...

I want to take a trip.
And never come back...

Sitting in these little buckets.
Paddles in our hands...

So looking back at this poem a few years later...
What most see as fate...

*****Some of you may not understand...Some...
Ash...

From Bricks to Plaster
Pink to Green...

Running Down,
This skin of Mine...

I feel so empty,
So Deep inside...

Madness in us all...
Watching as we fall...

Here in the mind of a cold blooded killer I lie.
A mind not of my own...

Help me please somebody
From all this pain and tears...

You say you miss her but what about me!
Aint I as important, as Sara Could be...