Pitch black skies spew death Fire wood flickers Orange embers burn mercilessly Burnt ivory sits within the dance of flames Mouth agape My cold eyes watch Laughing, dancing The joy of wide fearful eyes staring Before gutted and dropped into the fire’s tribal dance Crimson splattered hands Restlessly tremble The world a thundering silence My body burning cold I killed her My first born child Dead by my hands
-Mister Grell Sutcliff- · Sat Jan 14, 2012 @ 02:01am · 0 Comments |