Watch as the silence so golden, turns to ashes so frozen. The moon eclipsed by this blood, the duty of midnight's flood. These little webs so torn, our little hearts so worn. Do you think we can stand on this sheath, do you think you can get rid of this wreath? For we are now succumbing to this euphoria, this haven so clustered by insomnia. The damsels screaming and cheering, for things we do not wish for but are hearing. And together we will fall, fall into this dreary hell of a hole: as your mind defines the art, of ripping the love from my heart.
YOU ARE READING
poesy of doom
Poetry❝ why is nurturing sorrow like sprouting a tree, why are we not the humanitarians that we would like to be? ❞ ━ my book of poesy that drips of the warmth of saturn; the wrath of hades. do not read if you are not prepared to embrace this cryptical gl...
