this bat flies this way that
his inky coat so flat
and up and down and in and out
to get to where he's at
this bat he feels the moon
his rubber-winged cocoon
unfolds its flaps as he unwraps
to cry his nightly tune
and I this little pet
and I dark silhouette
so here I be with only me
to ponder my regret
YOU ARE READING
Poems for Morbid Children
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my more curious and macabre poems. Many of my poems play with words, the sounds and shapes of them. However, I often attempt to delineate emotion and sensation I cannot otherwise word, or I take inspiration from legen...
