Sometimes
when I slip...
Warning: This is a terror core poem. The contents...
Every night she sneaks out to meet her secret...
Fire born of rapture lost,
visionary within an indigo...
Can't stand the pain
Mental outweighs physical...
...no they are not reality,
but I would rather stay in this dreamland...
Noises lurking deep in the shadows,
As haunting the soul destined for the gallows...
My purpose here has been revealed,
I merely exist for other's taking...
In the end,
We all descend...
I am sorry,
Do I know you...
Turns out I have some questions
I pray you can give me a clue...
From the silvery ashes of the
worn-out poetry...
Skin clear, she appeared all firm and fair
no perm just jet black worms in her hair...