Final Exit

The roses are wilted. The air becomes dry, The darkness creeps out. from this foggy mind. Bless my dirty soul. that embraces thy doom, for this blood of life had curdled in self-loathing. Happy are these eyes that close in grim, for tears won't be able to bathe them with grief. Rejoice, dear soul, my poor little self, you've overcome life, so rest in peace! ©reddragonfly⚘