Eyes, black like coal
from a draining fire.
A fire that's been
raging for too long.
Lips, cold like ice
from winter storm
that wouldn't let you go.
Hands like thorns
from a rose garden,
one that was never
taken care of.
This was what your
body felt like, once
warm blood pooled on the floor
and there was nothing left of you,
but a vessel of pain.
YOU ARE READING
Dear: Hell
PoetryThe elevator broke now death played with you all night. - Hell's Deal ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sometimes monsters are real, sometimes Hell is fictional, but both have impacted many lives. So, take seat with some coffee and enjoy this poetry collection.
