The place where I sleep lies corpses
When I wake up my fingers are stained with blood
In a haze I slay them
Those who took from me
The very blood that reddens my palms
Barricaded on all sides
With the windmill to delay them
I just hope they won't come
But if they do in the night
Come morning their corpses too
Will litter my bed like their brethren
Arrive they may
Leave they won't
I am life to them so they seek me
But they can't understand yet
That I am their death too
YOU ARE READING
Those Things You Call A Poem
PoetryJust a collection of my in and out creativity. This is my rant area so warning, it's cringe, and emo, and just a mess.
