The bells have rung at 3.
I look up at the sky with tears.
No no more. I want to die.
With the ringing still going on,
I rush towards my blade.
It will be red.
Red like the tiles that are forever stained.
The beginning was always the end.
Just like the bell, it will have to end the song.
The bell stopes and so have I.
We both stopped singing our songs.
YOU ARE READING
The Mind Is a Dangerous Place
HorrorI don't think these can be called poems. They are just horrible thoughts that go through my head. Started 4-9-16
