Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 17
"What will my parents think?"
she whispered as his eyes flashed red.
"They won't even know you're dead, "
spoke his venom just outside her head.

Brittle flesh
Delicate hair
Cloth on mouth
Lack of air

******* and your righteousness.
******* and your heart.
******* and your pretty head.
You were dead from the start.
RMatheson
Written by
RMatheson  Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)   
62
   Monique LV
Please log in to view and add comments on poems