The neat, criss-crossed stiches bulge at the seams
Bloated like a rotting corpse
It's impossible to die though, if you were never really alive
Like some dark secret guarded by the Druids
Immortality seems only a dream
Like a mirage it flitters across your vision
Your true sight held deep in your conciousness
The lie is discarded and your eyes do the talking
Manipulating the world around you into something you can stand
Death seems the only logical answer
Even if you never bothered asking the question
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment