Triple shot sparking a ripple.
Brought down to the ground; crippled.
No time to pray.
Life above faith.
Turning into a darker shade of grey.
More time to cause scathe.
In a unique form of marking.
The skies are crying and haunting.
Droplets one after one.
Controlling the mood.
Not welcoming the sun.
Locked up and isolated. All in solitude.
Not even motivated.
Patterns after patterns.
His conscience is close to being shattered.
Ripple after ripple.
Triple shot after a triple.
This time to the head.
Dead, not crippled.
Midnight writing. Bored, a little, so just wrote something for the fun of it.
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Itarow Krähe 
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