Nightcafe creation
Wings of black smoke
She comes for me
With outstretched talons
Wanting to grip my face
Staring through me
With her flame-filled eyes
She searches my soul
For a hint of weakness
Her hair was wild
As her spirit was
Her main resolve
To drag me to hell
To serve as her slave
Forever and a day
About the Creator
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Comments (5)
Woohoo! Creepy poetry, loved it!
Yoikes! A face gripper! 😄 Good one Mother Combs.
I'd ever so happily go with her hehehehehe. Loved your poemA
Anyone relying upon their own strength to escape Hell rather than grace..., it shouldn't be too hard to find a whole host of weaknesses. (Sorry, just a bit of the pastor escaping me.)
Very nicely done!