I did not descend beyond the depths of my sorrow
I merely collapsed upon them at the very bottom
where the rocks lay stained with the blood of wretchedness
and when time with preacher arrives - fill the box in yarrow
so that my state of denial has an aroma of herb sweetness.
I do not see what I have done with the broken glass
In hand – no I cannot accept; I must not accept the sin
That spills out and fills the grave site surrounded by my mares
And when the final words are spoken and prayers close mass
Nay – I say! Nay, to
those who claim my soul was cursed by foolish dares.
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