The Time of Despair

A thundercloud claps with its desolate noise

A mother weeps for her lost soul

The sound of a feather falling through the wind

Is muffled by the screams of a heartbeat

Painful existence and pitiful mercy

Bent on erecting a shrine while decaying from the inside

A kiss is a knife with blood already stained upon it

Do not make love

You cannot make what is already dead