She lay there, void of emotion,
A halo of blonde surrounding her head,
I get the notion that she may be dead.
There it was, with the wink of an eye,
Her fragile body misted in light,
This is only a cry to fight.
Rising from a horrific cold,
The ground covered in sinful red,
Her hand I hold, full of dread.
Clipped wings lay alone,
A flurry melts in the blood,
He must atone for this flood.
YOU ARE READING
We're All Rusting
PoésieRandom poems written by yours truly Trigger warning: As these poems are written about actual life experiences that I have had some of you may find some details to be rather traumatizing, especially if you have went through anything similar. Not all...
