Knocking and spilling the alcohol which serves as fodder for stupidity.
Crimson anger fills your vision as you
draw the gun.
Time draws to a stop as you pull the trigger
on an innocent.
Scarlet stains the floor we tread as
hands reach to restrain.
Have you no shame, no guilt?
Figures in blue come to take you away.
We scream and they yell to
not resist.
Can you not listen, drunk as you are
on your sins?
Cover my ears as more shots
rang out.
Should I feel shame for relief?
More crimson comes to greet you
as you descend unto the flames of Hell.
Nightmares chase away any chance of
pleasant dreams.
Morning brings only more
unanswerable questions.
Pain drifts from memories best left behind.
You smiled darkly as you succumbed
as if somehow satisfied with the outcome.
Why?
I'll never understand why
you've been able to grin twistedly.
I heard you didn't receive
a funeral.
Perhaps that is good,
being surrounded by black
doesn't suit you.
Instead I leave a crimson rose,
I simply believe it fits you
better....
YOU ARE READING
Wickedly Twisted {-A Collection of Poems-}
PoetryDisquieting. Haunting. A collection of dark poems.
