Dedicated to phiajapheth
Markings on the wall, paintings bleeding in vengeful colours.
Thorns on roses, pricked fingers hunted by tainted blood.
Banks to rivers, home to monsters preying on innocence.
And there I was, stuck in a battle between good against EVIL-GOOD.
~Even good can be bad~
YOU ARE READING
'Silent' Clouds.
Poetry¶Words have no meaning, unless you make them, turning them into a spontaneous overflow of rhythm¶ ¶A string of broken pieces interwoven into into poetry. Broken symphonies, turned into poetry¶
