There's a station
On the way to hell
Where we leave our dead
And where the gods say goodbye
Where the flowers bloom
On the bones of coffins
The ground is littered
With the coins from our tongue
And the tears from our poppies
They wait at the station
Don't ask who.
They're there to help
As long as you don't fight
Just sit and cry
Mourn it all
Hades is waiting,
So don't be late.
YOU ARE READING
Internal screaming translated to something a bit prettier
Poesiajust any poem that I've written that isn't a love poem really
