She's been waiting for the flat line
Waiting for the end of the pulse
Waiting for the silence surround
And for the shadows to engulf
For the careful wording carved in stone
For the silence without sound
For the garden filled with piles of bone
And the force she hit the ground
They called it a flesh wound
Said it only grazed the skin
But it hit hard and it consumed
With a sick and bitter grin
She never wanted to come back
She was done with the life of fear
And so she stopped her flickering pulse
And no one shed a tear.
YOU ARE READING
Scars: Vol I
PoetryThis collection of poetry is a raw and emotionally gripping tale told through a loose narrative style and imbued with Allred's passion and personality. It retains a beautiful and haunting style of composition in which we are given an unfettered look...
