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Apr 2017
How does it spread

The sickness that invades our bed

The very place we lay

Stricken in red

Reading what you see

But did you understand what I said

Read it again for the meaning behind it

Try to clean my face

But I clown around in my own Skit

Maybe if I wasn't me

My life wouldn't be unfit

Still searching for my path

While lurking around

I lost the love for the things I do hath

All because of the people

Who dare haunt My past

Being in a place that

I know will never last

From flesh to dust

May death return me to ash
Don't let your own illness spread.
Death
Written by
Death  Jackson
(Jackson)   
185
   Lior Gavra
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