Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2016
Love is dead.
We have killed her.
Unclean hands grasp
at blacken throats.
No room left in
this world for love.
Let her pale hand go.
You wanted this.
Remember?
Darren
Written by
Darren  New Hampshire
(New Hampshire)   
327
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems