What are you made of?

What makes you?


Made of sticks and stones,
The wind whistles a melody,
Through open holes,
Crooked smile, charcoal bones,

My footsteps are the
Pounding of a waterfall
And my thoughts?
They are gunpowder
My heart pulls the trigger

Made of blood and bones,
Singing to a silent song,
Every wrinkled shown,
Shadowed eyes, withered crone

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