Litkicks Message Board Archive death...

Posted to Poetry

i'm looking at my self through the stained mirror
at the dawn of this new-born day
and i see my walking corpse staring at me
with a life make-believe
but it can't fool me
i know i'm dead
i can feel all the metaphors dried away in me
all the words always running through my head have stoped their dance
like leaves calm when the wind stops
but when the wind stops, what is there left in the stillness? death...