I see a black claw reaching out
Stealing Her from my hands
Leading gently to a distant land
How can I fight this shadow
As I reach out for my light
And see it dimming in the dark
Soon She's lost without a trace
Then I feel the impact of that hand
I hear Her voice, paralyzed and blind
And the black hand's ticking claws
As I lay there cold, forever still
A shattered spine and broken will
Now my killer is my healer
And the warmth a memory
YOU ARE READING
Two kinds of rain
PoetryA bunch of my thoughts aka the book of self pity (0_0) Life didn't go too much as planned, but I'm pretty sure that's what life is, a bunch of our failed plans, and whole lots of fateluck.
