Oh my tree
blossom child, winter wave-like
eyeshadows and equally
cold stares. Silently
screaming with a closed
mouth. Who ghosts
trough out alone. Do not
waste your lungs
to ponder. Wolfs of
now might starve with summer, but
the hounds of old will
continue to hunt. Alas
not sap drop of pitty
do you deserve. You in
cherry cyanide light who
washes in tears of sugar.
The lycans will at last
tear your ephemeral skin. And you'll
learn to slay beasts like man was meant to