Tinkerbell
Am I climbing the mountain just to leap from its peak?
When you tell me I’m living, I suspect I’m really dying
with each breath a step closer to Death.
I would like to find the Fountain, for I am afraid of this age.
Am I drenched in gasoline in the dark waiting, praying till Hades’ match gives sparks?
When you tell me to look out I am blind, but I suspect I’m slipping straight
towards the Reaper’s ice sickle.
I would like to find a light through this shade of space, the blackest Black Hole.
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