The air is getting warm,
the breaths, heavy.
Is this the end
or the beginning
of my melancholy?
The words have begun to
fade,
I hear footsteps over my
head.
Is this the soil where I
was born?
Or is it where I am going
next?
Oh! It’s the tears watering
the rose.
It’s quite close,
to what I think is death.
Life is the most beautiful,
at the end,
I suppose.
Because, that’s when we are
everything or nothing.
Silence never felt so
awesome.
The abyss never felt so
complete,
What are we without a
little emptiness?
What are we, without pain?
We maybe mortal and
soulful, but
finally we are no one.
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