Sunday, March 18th

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Off the top of my head..

It may be,
It may be...

I thought.
A saturated blunder be what's left of me.

On the wings of thee thy sanity flees,
Ripped and consumed directly in front of me.

Corrupt with fear,all my senses breed lame,
Poisoned by water and drowned in the flames.

The throne of doom,by my feet I'm drug under,
I release the hope,when amid all the thunder.

Upon a desolate wasteland,my seed be buried to grow,
I raise up my hands,and receive nothing to show.

The sky it bleeds gruesome,and angry in color,
I'm left with morbidity,while the rest creeps down the gutter...

Submitted: March 18, 2012

© Copyright 2021 hoodlum. All rights reserved.

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