if you know "Black Buttler" you know some of what some of this poem means
Plip, plop the blood drops Tick, tock goes the clock Ding, dong
The wind blows softly across the meadow carrying the whispers of tomorrow’s sorrows If you listen closely
The constant ruckus The constant noise When will it stop When will it cease When will i finaly
A stranger standing In a street full Of people yet Can’t find himself People stand and
i’ve got to many images and words in my own head a part of me
As I sit here and cry nobody notices the tears For I hide
Even though the tears fall the misary never fades You hope to last till morning but you feel you’re withering away
He sits on a hill of bodies and wonders why has this become his hated fate To take the life
sitting by a monument tower for those fallen befor us yet do we recognize
This isn’t a poem, it’s relly just… Of pain and sorrow And the lost maybes of tomorrow For i can’t remember a single happ… i remember smiling, laughing
i wont be falling any time soon i wont come calling on you i’ll stand on my own
stand up be strong that’s what i’ve always been told keep fighting
There is a boy sitting in a corner He is diffrent than other people and They leave him behind
Who am i to you? Am i boy or girl? Am i life
They always ask is the wight jacket comfy are the wight walls conferring And always I