a chilling light seeps in
as my restful night
turns gnarled teeth on me.
and in my questioning state,
I dare not leave stones unturned.
I pick, I poke, I tear
under the surface of the sun,
until I not only know the answers,
but hate myself for them.
selling my soul to the devil
may be my only chance of survival.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
a chilling light seeps in
as my restful night
turns gnarled teeth on me.
and in my questioning state,
I dare not leave stones unturned.
I pick, I poke, I tear
under the surface of the sun,
until I not only know the answers,
but hate myself for them.
selling my soul to the devil
may be my only chance of survival.
