Screaming
What is it,
that never exzists,
perhaps starting,
to begin the end.
The question remains,
but the answers are hidden,
in lies and riddles,
that form the flower of life.
While petals wilt,
that fall to the ground,
so are the secrets,
thats whisperd at night.
In my ears silence is heard,
on my lips words balence,
to the end when I scream
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