Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2015
Her guts were spilling
Through her open mouth
As she moaned giving her last breath
Annabelle's skin started getting pale
Her eyes Stopped
She was looking at me
When I gently stroke her silky hair


      I felt the light breeze on my skin...
   -I like the sound of the wind-
I thought to myself
And left the room
Hope you like poems like this. ;)
Weronika Piela
Written by
Weronika Piela  Poland
(Poland)   
534
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems