Whispers Of Secret Death Poem by Kim Jones

With the wind there blows an enticing secret
Egging me on to do what I should have done many years ago
Still I know better than to follow those whispers
For they lead to one place only: death.

The flute of secrecy played in every soul
Has finally infected me as well, I believe
Like a disease it starts as a thought
And grows to be a small spot on my skin
From hence it magnifies to cover my face
I am suffocated into life despaired.

The story of mine is not commonly known
And sometimes I'm glad of that
But mostly it's simply a tool to isolate
Until I'm forever alone.