I will tend to your deepest wounds
Doctor of the catacombs
The deep throbbing in my bones
Favours my purple undertones
I must care, for the sick
Escape Thanatos candlestick
I cradle you, in my arms
Safe from Ares dreadful charms
You; cannot leave my grasp
Your perfect hand, I tightly clasp
Muffled sounds of shots above us
As we hide under our strengthened truss
War unfolds overhead
I am glad; we have fled
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Words Of The Dead- Words Of The Living- #Wattys2019
Poesía#1 in poetry- 26/7/18 Every day, thousands of people struggle with mental and physical illnesses, fighting battles people refuse to talk about. I'm here to change that. This poetry collection shines a light on mental illness, hopefully saving a few...
