She wears a crown made of bones;
A rightful queen to a bloody throne.
How many servants did she kill?
Lifeless bodies lay oh so still.
Does she really feel any guilt?
How can she ignore the blood she spilt?
All of this just for power;
A crown that's laced with wilted flowers.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Mentally Insane
PoetryPoetry is the writing of our deepest, darkest, most inner thoughts. When speaking isn't enough and your voice falls upon deaf ears, writing is our only refuge. Join me and experience the workings of my mind in my collection of original poems. (Credi...
