Black is a feather that falls away from its master raven, it carries the scent of death and fear as the winds takes it in.
It comes over the world when the light has disappeared.
It tastes as old beer and cigars in the rundown parts of Detroit.
Once the dazzling crimson vanished, the wicked black destroys everything in its path.
Black truly is the greatest color of death and for the dead.
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Poetry
Poetrypoetry that come up to my head durring school or when i'm in a good mood
