Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2015
I canst stand this wretched hell called home no more, tis this place that shalt be mine death. For what shalt i haveth left? When the grotesque night walkers **** out mine last of all energies. Tasting blood again, past sin turned misery! Easily spoken for a pastor to say he knoweth demons. Hellion of teething bandits unearthed from hades. Sadistic babies. Continuous madmen of killers delight. For maby ill take a flight wherein those varmint  canst scratch nor bite. Where all is right. And repleneshing wilt come by gods own fiery sword. A place of highest compassion, shrined amour'. No earthmade door. No grocery stores to search whats all needed. Just pureness wherein no goblins nor ghouls are hatched, maintained. Nor breeded!
brandon nagley
Written by
brandon nagley  Ohio,USA..
(Ohio,USA..)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems