Death stings and makes us bitter
Like a cup of milk
Once full and satisfying
Now cold and curded up.
empty and void
How long does one heart pulse without a beat?
How long does one beat go on without a heart?
Passion is a funny thing
It drives you and makes dreams real
It doesn’t stop once the end has come. It keeps flowing Pushing
Death like a small plunge into a fake pool of authenticity
Makes you bitter cause the darkness does not want you to break the barrier.
It is not for the faint of heart, yet you don’t have to be strong to be submerged.
A surreal dream that floods your soul.
And what was real is too lost
And What was a dream is now to be found
