Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Poetry: Born of Sin

It's true
I am death
I have it in a box
Wrapped in sinful skins
Piled with ticking clocks
Don't you like my gifts?
I wrapped it just for you
Just remove the coffin screws
and point to that you excuse
It's true
I am death
My eyes are always open
I know you lay there hoping
that I'll peer past your scars
But, your future holds these bars
You'll be in my box
Wrapped in sinful skins
It's not death forever
Hell starts when one begins

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