Friday, October 10, 2014
Tragedy is an insult, it’s a shame
To the devil of sorrow to its name
He whines for the pain of yesterday
Only the ache separates him from the dead today
The warmth is now for the note but he finds in the coldness
Is it in the blinding myth or is he insane?
Seeks the pieces of clothes left for the remain smell
To call now the world scentless place
Was it lovely in her arms than any sanctum you wished now
Is it worth it all for the love that has left, you decaying best..