Bloodstained teeth
Split in a grin
Crimson and white
Pure as a sin
Eyes glinting green
Serpent greed
Card is in his hands
He wins the bid
As he turned to the
Last resort
Devil's trap effort to
Make it work
Moment of reaching
Ruthlessness
Where was the pain?
Second guess
No holds barred now
And he fought
Where was the taint?
Afterthought
A calloused display
Stony and crass
No trace of the man
That once was
It may be a desperate
Kind of plan
But is his own humanity
Too far gone?
YOU ARE READING
To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)
PoetrySupernatural poems that I write when all the: -massive emotional damage -overwhelming crack -severe obsession -rare inspiration -demon possessing me is too much to handle. 50% feels, 50% crack, 100% trash. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! ××× ...
