Bullet to your head

Bullet to your head:

Wearing anvils on my shoulder,
a ticking time bomb on my back,
my heart's a little colder,
and the reverberating field's black;

Pulse higher than ever,
eyes whiter than the sun,
limbs and torsos sever,
brains in a feather spun;

I'm the ghost from another land,
the scythe and the hourglass,
clutching in each hand,
I stand on the other end of the crevasse;

Come and don't shy,
come now and don't cry,
this is death,
to Eden, we fly.

PRANATI PATHAK

18.10.2022

14:42