Heavy hands, tangled around my throat Stealing every lasting note. Whimpers, whispers, winded pouts Lungs deflated Mind is contemplated
By Melrose2 months ago in Poets
I am at his beck and call. Says it’s him or not at all. Bending at the knee I fall Eyes wide open, looking up Sweating, waiting to disrupt
A needle and thread will always mend But does it fix the broken, my friend? Tiny pricks into flesh will bleed Yet, the string yanks to concede
By Melrose2 months ago in Horror
