Melancholy it stalked me,
This proud yet sad little kitty,
Death she called herself, a he,
Know not her self, nor me.
For all he touched was the dead,
And all the dead she did touch.
And those fleeting moments before paradise,
He did make into a lifetime.
Course stay did no one, the void did appeal,
And now oh so lonely she appeared,
For what fault was his; her poison touch,
Bestowed, by the ones above,
Her cursed blessing, an invitation,
Yet the invitation never invited himself,
As try as they may death will never die,
Till the only the dead remain,
His only kind.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PuisiSecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
