You claim to be in love,
what a fool you are.
You claim to be enthralled by her beauty,
how blind you are.
You know not that you are knocking on the devil's door,
You know not that you are feasting on the devil's whore.
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Writings of Pleasant
Poetry"No lover leaves a rose garden without blood on their hand." A collection of dark thoughts. A collection of dark poems.
