The Story of My Death
Eye lids like bricks, to heavy to open but to scared to close them. Scared?
Of what? Every thing was to foggy to tell, a gray mist coating irises.
Memory's hazed, scambled, and lost. Reality and the power of imagination
clouding truth.
No one will tell, no one will speak or maybe no one is talkingor ears aren't
working? or maybe, just maybe nothing is real. If only that was true.
Leaving? Going somewherer or standing still. Heaven or Hell? Up pr Down?
God only knows but never tells.
A hero, A saint, A human. No. Just a ground, cold and rocky, Nothing more,
Nothing less.
So lying cold and alone. Heavy