Blood is shed,
when a life is taken.
It's a sorrowful day,
when we meet death's doors.
Blood flows,
like a river.
Bodies in piles,
on the floor.
The perfect massacre,
with Lucifer's thorn.
YOU ARE READING
Lullabies in the Dark
PoetryJust a lot of my poems from some of my early-late teen years and maybe a couple will be added from the present.
