Sludge oozes from vine-warped walls
While through blackened mud
The beetles pulse as they crawl
Old scars are soon to bud
As limbs drop from festered galls
Flourishing in stale blood
Old life fades while new life calls
The river of bones flood
Through the lookout eyes of dolls
My lil' Notebook of Poems 2
By Twisted_Pandora
New collection of poems More