Whitewolf420 Poetry (1)

The smell of rust reminds me of that home that belong to us, now its juts dust, that night my heart died when from my dead heart a frozen Angel depart, I leave this forsaken world, in search of a new start, I always strive for the never shining light. I only die a thousand times each and every night, my cold dead Angel died and killed the light wich burned my eyes, burned my life. In a forest of pain I always strive to find that life, shredded to shit, raining in rust, dry and dusty my life in crumbs. My Angel I hate you