Hunting By Tears Poem by Unic Cjonr

what makes the spit of the snake, when you are married to its venom. Sound the alarm before the end of day, so your mouth may shut before the fall of your eyes. One in death, one in birth, misguided by the weak off your mind. Will you read the signs, before what shall never be late, the will struck down by time. Turmoil blooms in my darkness of light, left does not turn in my sight close to right. Simple surroundings which you cover with fear, from far to the front, behind draws near, death is the hunter, hunting by tears