animals, death, Existence, Philisophy, Philosophy, Photography, Poem, Poetry, Reality, romance, snake

Still Death

The life that once was,
Stripped of all it’s meaning,
Flesh and bones,
Like sticks and stones,
Hardened like the human soul,
The life that once was,
Gazes at me in fear,
A develish smile remains,
Frozen of all it’s meaning…

The wanderer asks..
In these fragments that I pieced,
Am I the human,
Or am I just the beast…

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