This is me
Standing on a tower cold
Pushing up the clouded skies
With fingers stretched wide
Trying to hold back the rainy clouds
Until this imitation month
Which proclaims to be a daughter of May
Proceeds to pass us by

May isn't for rain

The final breath,
beauty in death,
The flower's finest blossom is right before it wilts,
the finest actors fall from their stilts,
A shot rings out and a man finds his meaning,
The last breath the victim uses for singing,
Shredded flesh makes the finest art,
Me and death will never part,
When you finally die and leave a widow not a wife,
You will realize death is the pinnacle of life,
The mask i wear to **** is my face,
Red is the blood that fills this place.