But do you know , he said
as if it was the wind through my hair
or the cold on my cheek.
How could I know, I thought.
How could I know that
death kisses like a **********
lips laced with *******
How could I know that darkness
is such a sweet seductress
who suckles the broken
with her baring *******
No one ever stopped
to educate the youth.
They threw books at our heads
and like a mighty god
playing the role of a very disagreeable child...
nobody told us that porcelain
hits the ground with the same
sensual satisfaction
of a broken man,
painting the walls red
with a white eyed glaze
and a bullet in his brains.
Death becomes him,
and he will wear it like a king.
Long lives the ******* king,
but I never truly knew.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
But do you know , he said
as if it was the wind through my hair
or the cold on my cheek.
How could I know, I thought.
How could I know that
death kisses like a **********
lips laced with *******
How could I know that darkness
is such a sweet seductress
who suckles the broken
with her baring *******
No one ever stopped
to educate the youth.
They threw books at our heads
and like a mighty god
playing the role of a very disagreeable child...
nobody told us that porcelain
hits the ground with the same
sensual satisfaction
of a broken man,
painting the walls red
with a white eyed glaze
and a bullet in his brains.
Death becomes him,
and he will wear it like a king.
Long lives the ******* king,
but I never truly knew.
Request permission to use this poem