The bell rings, echoing around the town,
As the girl lies lifeless, oblivious to the sound.
Her heart, deprived, beats nor mourns,
As she lies in the coffin at the crack of dawn.
Slowly, all mourners awake and arise,
And gather at the church, under grey skies.
Oblivious to them all, the truth of her death,
Drained of her blood, love and life, she's a mess.
They all stand and watch as she's lowered in the ground,
And left there to rot as the sun goes down.
When she rises from her coffin, bathed in moonlight,
She leaves her old life, for a new one by the night.
YOU ARE READING
Soppy Shit
PoetryI'd call them poems, but they're probably not. Just a few ramblings written over the years.
