The World Is Ugly
More delliquit than a flower
Stranded on an island of thieves
Rising up from the ashes of the
burning trees
The constant smell of burning flesh
We laid down to rest
The crisp feel of the leaves
Bark burning at a raging speed
But our eyes are to blind to see
What I feel is no less
That would be your guess
Copyright © Shayla Dendinger | Year Posted 2012
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