A Howling Cry - Poetry

A longing to die,
A sweet escapre,
From all that's unreal,
Bound to burn the flesh.

If it was not,
Then move along to the end,
Right along,
Till it do come to an end.

Bury it under,
That wax candle,
That died too on the very same night,
For all wasn't about rainbows in the sky.

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