The crows flock to misery, not
to peck at death but to keep Despair Company
And the songbirds of poets, bring me their lilies, second-hand roses,
Wilted to ruin.
My heart, mirrored in their image, is
Blackened and broken, battered and bruised
She longs for tenderness, to sow what had
Withered
And there you stand
Jealousy in hand
Hit me over the head with it
And I’ll fall for you again
My Saccharine Suicide, will be ever sweet
And when I
die
It will be at your
Feet
The crows flock to Misery,
Beaks plunging into sockets.
Tears trail down stone cheeks
Blood drips down,
Tears
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 12:36 PM UTC
The crows flock to misery, not
to peck at death but to keep Despair Company
And the songbirds of poets, bring me their lilies, second-hand roses,
Wilted to ruin.
My heart, mirrored in their image, is
Blackened and broken, battered and bruised
She longs for tenderness, to sow what had
Withered
And there you stand
Jealousy in hand
Hit me over the head with it
And I’ll fall for you again
My Saccharine Suicide, will be ever sweet
And when I
die
It will be at your
Feet
The crows flock to Misery,
Beaks plunging into sockets.
Tears trail down stone cheeks
Blood drips down,
Tears