A Stones Rot Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

A Stones Rot



A searching has no mind of the time.
A empty heart becomes rot with unspeakable things.
Only if a hovering lust could quench a grown mans thirst.
Some thirst go unending forever to be a riddle baring no fruit.
No matter sweetness of smells, still it doesn't not satisfy.
A fore looming conclusion comes as wind hints of a direction to follow.
Worn are the thoughts, be it truth or fiction.
An ailment invisible to the naked eye.
Temporary afflictions come and go but this has not.

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