The muddy dirt I walk on
Are the lies I've told.
*****, unashamed of the
Suicides in my head.
It's all been said.
All the moons are full tonight,
White with innocence.

The rain washes nothing away,
Only the surface lies.
They died there in that July night.
The night of my first suicide.

Enter date here.

The leaves on those trees are self
Sufficient, unlike most men.
The sons of God, the ******* of a
Society unwilling the see the
Lies I've,
we've told.
Say no more.
This is the death foretold.
The tree of death is here for you,
Unwilling to leave without your flesh.
This is the truest truth.

A death foretold.
A suicide, unashamed.

The death, in living, is here
For me,
For you,
For them,
For the *******.

The muddy dirt
That I walk on,
Paced only by the beat of the heart
I left on the moon all those years ago.

One pump.
Then another.
One more for show.
There's a joke in that.