Sometimes there is no warning.
You are sitting there, writing,
Then you feel the cold fingers
Slithering, sliding.
And you know, you know
That they've come for you.
They've come.
To drag you into tartarus.
Because sometimes
There's no warning.
YOU ARE READING
Pulvis et Umbra
Poetrywe write our stories on the silver black clear canvasses of our lives these are my stories i build them so you can relate and perhaps we won't be so alone *** "I really love these poems. They help me find myself in worlds where there is no one lef...
