The Sniffing Flower
The wind blows
where I can be
to be perfect
not being prefect.
On honesty, shall rise
while I'm still here
doing nothing to tribute
like a lifeless body.
To the beat, to the sound
to the rhythm, to the voice
where shoud I go?
No one knows.
This shall be continues
from my very own blood
surprise might be wrong
but it was meant to be.
