Stomache Cavity

It's time I said the gates are freed
and the season wears me thinner, then none
by fire I was to burn in,
until my sorrow had begun

from beneath these walls,
how it all crumbles.
It's wilting purpose posed
a treachery in my hands,
to be placed in the woods
of devastator.

to here, I speak no more,
my words part faded with the age
of revolutions, past mistakes
that I can never once repay
when persistence lingers.