The darkness entraps me.
It wraps its hands around my neck, choking every hope I have left.
It whispers in my ears and smiles as the tears trickle down my cheeks.
Its hot breath warms my skin, leaving stains on my tinted soul.
Help me! Help me!
Save me! Save me!
I scream with my last breath
But my voice has been stolen
And my body has been filled with nothingness.
Slowly, I am slipping off, and I fear that by the time I awaken, the darkness will become my home.
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Writings of Pleasant
Poesía"No lover leaves a rose garden without blood on their hand." A collection of dark thoughts. A collection of dark poems.
