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Sunday, June 5, 2011


Guns and hatchets,
Foam and plastic.
I need, I need a priest or a real gifted exorcist,
But I'm stuck at Walmart with nothing but a cross, a crucifix, and several shiny toy guns.
God, we both know where these hands have been, there's no need to pretend,
So could you please call off these zombies and vampires for one damn second so we could talk?
There's nothing worse than being drowned in a legion of demons when you're trying to pray.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
^ First half-decent thing I wrote in a while. Been on a bit of a hiatus, unfortunately... or fortunately depending on how bad that poem actually was. It sounded less than horrible when I wrote it in my diary, but knowing me I'll probably go back in the morning and beat myself up for posting it the rest of the day.

It's almost midnight here. The house is dead.

I wanna work on this story I started a year and a half ago, but word processor isn't working on this crappy computer. :< Sadness.
ily
~Belinda

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