The hanging girl swung
like a branch ready to snap.
The skin peeled.
Blood felt like fingers
with a touched of cold,
as it slipped down her spine.
The only audience
were the crows gathered
on branches. Once the girl
took her last shaken breath
the crows would have
their late afternoon snack.
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.
