poem: gooddaynight

chadwick

wave to the dying
pull church bell ropes
the lost are to soon
so this i will be sleep soon
shot to your ground
my new hole

so pull those jumping bells swaying
just roots feel, they will
as temples crumbling under jungle's insane strangulation
here i rip my own flesh apart
throwing this skull down onto stone broken slabs
grinding flints underneath

no cares
no worries
just simple off dust, of this
dying is trying
bones roasting well as iron-bells under sunfire scream down (like they do)
no more will take before i go (inside)