To float on the surface of power
Or to drown in the infinity of loss?
And the answer does not exist...
Try not to become the skull you are holding
Lifeless, alone, spent by years
Somehow still remembered, a memory of life
Is now dead...
It does not carry color of eyes
Not even softness of hair
Just reminder, those aching words
And love, revenge or power
Do not have a chance against death
In it's black coat, carrying poisoned bodies
Was it worth it?
Or was is just life?
Will you, 𝘏𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰, one day hold his skull?