My mind plays games on a graveyard.

I can sense the stench of rotting flesh beneath my feet
The tears of the masses rise up;
Choking me, a stranglehold on my senses.
The withering autumn leaves decorate my crashing heart
And form a cradle for my tired thoughts.
Everything here is a discarded work of art,
Lost in the memories and words of the times past.

My broken bones have long since been dead from disuse,
Left here to rot; a dark, sticky mess;
Mumbling song lyrics to the uncomprehending world.

My mind plays games on a graveyard.

The End

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