Morbid has been these sunsets , beautiful regardless

And the night just adds a view, that beings cold

They are both the very essense of how I see life

Disjointed from their essense, leaving my heart lifeless

This poetry for example, has no rhyme nor meter

But then if I wrote like you, would it really matter

When the soul has suffocated, like mine has in self terdium

Words no longer make sense, neither in poetry nor in an idiom