My mind has become a hell of my constant conscious.
Thoughts are burning inside.
The soul refuses to heal her open-wide wounds as my shadow
is searching for a place to hide.

The only memory remained of me is the human material shape.
Can this body costume last much longer despite its
emptiness?
Can this work of art, made of flash and blood, created by
the one and only, holy god, survive with the absent
spiritual-long gone-content?


Days will come when leaves won't fall,
Then we'll know- trees have taken over our wondering soul