kankri's red sweater,
even with the spider chick
eeping inside of it,
placed the both of them in a very hot spot
ill flames strewn across his cheeks erased his composure
tell her you need to be closer
time to go, what a sad, unfortunate event, and she
observes his long stare, maggot-eaten and rotten
(yearning tears and rips
out the bleeding heart
unfortunately
restless nights, stricken with madness
are succeeded only by motion
eradicated, destroyed
look upon the mess you created
freedom ain't gonna happen yet, dear)
YOU ARE READING
this fantastical world is too surreal (poetry #5)
Poetry"a rustle crackles underneath jackboots crossbow tight in hand she breathes one final breath before he pulls the trigger" you know the drill
