what i write, is my mood.

shrinking into the grave

being an outcasted i was,

i wanna dig a grave like i was,

shrink onto that; i really was,

before i even knew i was.

i'm sorry, i don't have company,

i don't know how to; i'm full of sympathy,

i was craving on a dignity,

i wanna live inside under until infinity.

hope it rains,

and a rose would bloom as the soil rinse,

a finger will lay in coincidence,

a blood would flow as the rain rinse.

though, thee soul will be free,

but thy body on the grave will only be rottening,

presence would be needing,

who cares?

[/hihihihi;