Bury her with her ripped, burnt wings
Tattered and torn, inside and out
Her skull turns to dust
As well as her previously porcelain bone structure.
Alone she was and always is;
In death does she part.
Death welcomed her with his spread, blackened wings and open arms.
She died alone -- except for the killer that fled at that last, crucial moment.
Accepting it, she used the art of death
Welcoming the darkness and outer decay
Finally matching her damaged mind.
Author notes
Two parter; keep in mind this poem was done years ago.
Comments
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Love it!
Keep up the beautiful work. <3
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wow
wow...amazing write...haunting
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DAYUMM
wow it sounds like hell and the kind of thing i would write...keep it up
MUCH LOVE
Rose Cold Murder
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