Clouds
A brand new fossil, twisted.
Harrowing,
carving lines of guilt through my soul.
The tears,
the sorrow,
no hope for tomorrow.
All is gone,
melted into some arty farty new age sculpture,
from old age destruction,
m.a.d.
Are we glad,
are we bad?
A mothers name to carry the blame,
this was the game to end all games.
Clouds can look like many things...
...hearts and rings and angels wings...
...and death.
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