081| Murder

20 8 0

You lost your name,
Honey, you lost your soul,
What did you get?
Just a broken door,
It's hinges coming out,
They can't hold anymore,

The dilapidated voices comes through,
The curtains of secrecy never blew,
The window panes have cracks of shame,
Screaming "I hate you"
And the throats calling outside,
Are trying to block my view,

I wonder if they will ever stop,
The days go on and on with no roadblock,
I watch the house burn in the storm,
Until there's nothing left but blackened rocks,
And now they fill a grave and call me,
A legacy or probably a mock,

Shattered on floor are the chandeliers,
Their clashing voices is all I hear,
Until they die down in the night,
With the servants bringing brooms to clear,
The debris of my life,
And the whole lot of my tears,

Shiny buildings with foyers and cross,
Intersections bringing left and lost,
They gather at my grave crying,

But what they know is the tragedy,
Nobody tells us what they really see,
Until the waves wash away the dying,

So I hold on to the casket tight,
Until the wind blows way too quite,
For that's when the dawn will get bright,
Stains of blood on the carpet floor,
And the hinges of the broken door,
Says the story in their own light.

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