Wherein lies,
Freely given out crucial metaphors,Not to symbols of hope for me, For I live as on already dead. My dreams belong to you all, The living.
Traded a thousand sleepless nights to transcribe my inner self upon digital but forlorn of neglect forecast pages, Hidden under shadows of my sorrow scabs self inflicted scars, A dagger to skin haiku, Waved the wand of murky water grave death over my head as I burned the evidence. To be forgotten or accidentally utilized via unknown artist remembered quotations lingering over my every shackled in shadow line.
In earnest anticipation of,
Death
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