Secrets, secrets I can't tell,
Soul on fire, as angels fell.
Corpses, skeletons I hide,
Buried under flowerbeds outside.
My basement reeks of bloody gore,
Hidden behind a cast iron door.
Chains, whips; you're my slave,
A floral tombstone marks your grave.
Insanity my closest friend,
Only death, is my amend.
No mercy, no empathy, no remorse,
Fodder for the worm's main course.
Bathed in blood symbolic war-paint,
Worshiped like the stigmata saint.
Come my darling, as I watch you swell,
Welcome to my own brand of hell.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poetry
PoetryThis is a colection of thoughts or nightmares in form of poetry, some of them written by myself, some only gathered by me. The darkness is in all of us just waiting to get out, but not in the light. No, darkness reaches out for darkness, so you thin...
