A dark twist to the poem by Robert Frost - Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening
Whose knife is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown. I cry hello.
She gives her knife a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The knife is sharp, jolly and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Until then she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed with ducts that weep.
She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolizes being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.
YOU ARE READING
Reaper In The Dusk.
Poetry| Compilation of poems about depression｜ I present you the wounds that never showed on me which are deeper than anything that bleeds. This is my only chance to escape free a penalty for my deeds. My head is a very dark place. Which needs to be cared...
