A Dead Poem - Rotting Christ



Focus tomorrow's horizon



Sorrow means no future



Cover my face



With my guilty hands







It's the season the trees die



The birds don't sing anymore



The rivers never come back



Nature dies out







This tragic figure



Destined to hurt never heal



What end can save me



What good gives me an end







Nothing is innocent



Nothing is fair



I keep wondering



How did I end up like this







First passion



Now is lost



A dramatic dead story



I killed all I have







My sadness is



Translated into madness



I spell meaningless words



A poem for sorrow and death



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