I've tossed aside my past nine lives,
but the gods have spared me a tenth.
To think they have buried my sullen cries six feet into the underworld,
only to be dug up.
It develops into an unnatural nature.
The forests grew limbs,
the flowers sprouted teeth.
The clouds set free the preys red rain unto the land of the pure.
Reminding us what we sacrificed.
Their tales are being told through the broken skin of a voiceless shell.
Throughout a soul-less nation, who listen to the grey.
All the answers we shed skin for already live within us.
We set our ghosts aflame praying they won't follow us wherever we may wander.
All we get left with are the ashes that we inhale with every breath,
and a scorched sense of self.