Behind that angelic mask;
Is a face;
A deadly face.
With an expression of fear glued on.
Have you ever looked into the bloodshot eyes,
Of a killer, without his gun?
It’s that of a child,
Without his toys.
Have you ever listened,
To the shriek of a demon;
As it is dragged into the light;
And destroyed.
YOU ARE READING
The Ghosts of my past.
PoetryLiterally, the ghosts of my past. My pain and such. Poetry from 2008-2009.