8 views
a dreary wandering
a dead bed of roses under a blackened sky and still the rain avoids the grave,
the lightning cracks and screams in rage the cool chill in the air is in your name.
peeling away the mourning.
picking at the scabs of regret,
underneath the dead flesh of what should have been said.
The spiders in the corner of the bottle are not enough to snort,
infection sets in the cracks of sanity and begins to gnaw at the soul.
© Rexican
the lightning cracks and screams in rage the cool chill in the air is in your name.
peeling away the mourning.
picking at the scabs of regret,
underneath the dead flesh of what should have been said.
The spiders in the corner of the bottle are not enough to snort,
infection sets in the cracks of sanity and begins to gnaw at the soul.
© Rexican
