In the darkness of his dark beating which he had given for his own death,
There are many things to think of, there is much of a story.
He didn’t had any interest for building a mystery
Roll a dice by hiding few this is how you live,
Its getting his eyes while she screams with nothing she could do.
A gentle breeze rode through an open window,
Coupled with rain that came in like saw dust.
She had enough books at her home,
She was rereading her fate by the Bloom.
There is a monstrous doorway ahead of her meeting,
Where i see myself waiting for greetings.
Each night before bed; she would open a fail safe guide to grave digging,
Buried deep inside it, her name was engraved.
She mouthed the words and touched the birds,
She turned noisy pages into small packed death dairy.
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