The Rout

by Deathcanwait   Nov 17, 2010

She burns out eyes like gin on wounds
Upon a tide of those whom swoon
In front not knowing they've fallen in
A teeming valley of every sin
A touch as soft as brambled thorns
That squeezes hearts that no-one mourns
She'll drag those in that look naive
An act as honest as those who thieve
A darkened valley, a jagged knife
That meant to plague once fruitful life
An acid tongue she wields before
A lying smile and faking jaw
Pupils deep a whirling pool
That makes the strong melt down to fools
Once inside there's no way out
Her chilling mind will end the rout
A harvest starts that takes a year
Of curdling pain and raging fear
Left not souls not even shells
Just a dust that tells of hell
I'd warn those off but I'm bound tight
One can not scream locked in hindsight.
Remember just: what seems so sweet
Will scold your head, through heart, to feet.



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