i don't want to think about her hurting
blood on her fingers, deep in the night
i don't want to think about what's in her head
even if it ends with a dimming light
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poetryi won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
the dark within her skin
i don't want to think about her hurting
blood on her fingers, deep in the night
i don't want to think about what's in her head
even if it ends with a dimming light
