Gord

2024-08-08 01:00 am

She walks the tightrope,
Calm as the sea,
God decides not popes,
Nor who is to be,
She decides.

Death, I'm melting,
Ice to the skin, white,
I hope my red is ending.

Where is my yellow,
Beneath gangrene?
And what is the blue,
Something to never see?

Death, I'm coming,
Touch my skin, white,
I know my time is ending...

Tightrope walking, thin,
This, is more of a kids thing...
I think...