Who wants to grapple with death?
there is no cure for the ailments of the world
reflect on the way things were before your mind conceived tragedy
you bore no ill will nor deserted hope
and in times of strife, you struck with a wicked tongue
it should have been a knife, so the blood could sign the end on the floor
by the river bank
a sense of the end fills your body
consuming the life once had
gaping you sip from the water
as your ancestors did before you
damn the sickness that ensues
and damn the calamity of offering
thirst one last request
and when night blankets the earth
the stillness comes alive
toxic
i can’t look into your eyes
they hold the world in chains
bound and swept across the void
or is it the black hole
they call a heart?
it gathers lost souls
and dispense of the rest
like a lost button that’s never found
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