Deserted trails That I seem to find.
Dont what is in front, what is behind.
All I know is that this trail leads to nothing new.
Just something desolite.
Trees are grey, done with life.
Flowers are dead, Only the selected few still breathe.
Biting the fruit from the tree.
Getting the poison from the flavor.
Putting it in my back pack, Halt death, again, for later.
Climbing to the top of the trail, expecting nothing new.
Until a grey mound forms onto the earth.
Staring at the grave,
This grave was meant to be yours, You wasted the maker's time.
You were supposed to die. You will now be grounded deep into hell.
With the devil's leash. Love, Your father