Fingers trembling,
lips quivering.
She found herself covered In Crimson.
Nameless prey. Her name,
He didn't know,
He didnt care.
His blade tasted her blood,
Drunk in sweet scent of
Power.
Eyes gouged,
organs ripped.
She died.
He was a killer.
A master puppeteer.
Holding fragile lives in his
Fingertips,
Screaming to be freed
And be controlled.
Perhaps he was a
Monster.
Perhaps an
Angel.
He didn't know,
He didn't care.
YOU ARE READING
Lovers
PoetryTis' a wicked flower. That sucks life. Till its roots are withered. Love. They call it. When like meets like, The end of the world starts, Watering, Their little garden of skulls.
