It's time I write a morbid verse
Of a necrophiliac's scent
A love sonnet in a dark hearse
The way sick, evil love is meant
It's sure something to remember
The cold night shaped the mood sedate
'twas an eve of dark December
Beauty lured me to procreate
Though cold and stiff, love's not inept
Melody's morose symphony
I do believe with joy she wept
Dead, she deserves no sympathy
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
It's time I write a morbid verse
Of a necrophiliac's scent
A love sonnet in a dark hearse
The way sick, evil love is meant
It's sure something to remember
The cold night shaped the mood sedate
'twas an eve of dark December
Beauty lured me to procreate
Though cold and stiff, love's not inept
Melody's morose symphony
I do believe with joy she wept
Dead, she deserves no sympathy
Not a necrophiliac! This was my attempt at dark, but I think it has a humorous quality, therefor, I failed. Bouts-Rimés is when another person gives you the end rhyme words. Soul gave these depressing words to me because most of my poems are lighthearted. I gave her a list of happy words because her poems are usually dark. Check hers out when she posts it.
