You observe,

bleak shadows,

reflecting the visible.

Sixty years of passing time.

Set in stone as the vapid object.

Sitting on a cliff,

above blue and white backgrounds.

The water is extracted,

to bless what remains of your soul.

Gypsy unision,

and lost intuition.

Common ways in this common day.

Your roots are very clear.

Easy as wires to desecrate.

I thought every follower was you.

Righteousness was like a foreign language to me.

I don't care if I am being lied to.

With sacred water, gold, and bonding,

I thought I was following you.

The picture of age, sacrifice, remnants, and riddance.

You want it so bad that you rip it open to get it.

I was cut so deep that nothing else could cut through.

I see your face,

I see your sunken eyes, high cheek bones,

and expression of despair.

Almost like the victim,

of Carrion birds like us.

The carrions who,

worked you to a pulp of nothingness.

I tried many times to cease everything.

They pull my strings in all directions,

in attempt to sever my corpse of integrity.

You used to save me every single time,

until conspiracy of the rivalry came upon you.

A bird losing her wings,

and a turtle growing old as stone.

A love of emptiness to fill.

I said I would,

but you never trusted me.

Here I am now,

my bonafied blood has drained,

and my eyes are strained.

That demon,

who possessed my soul's purity,

for four years of hell and agony.

But that does not matter to you,

Sweet bird,

have peace in the world that you chose.

I just wish that our division was bridged into a better form.

I have now transcended to my chosen emancipation.