Remaining...in limbo...
Where pain exists but doesn't plague....
The rye it calls her soul..
She devils with a chemical cocktail like Hercules in Hell...
Oh Death, why do you not long for her as she longs for you...
Like a lover...a fix...an end...rebirth or recreation...
Why do you shut her out...
Tired is a soul...take her into the rye..
Where she can haunt no one, hurt no one, ever more.
No comments:
Post a Comment