FredPeyer

The Groom

Darkness seeping threateningly

Through the dilapidated wall

Stillness lying heavy, deadly

On the old bed’s coverall

 

The lonely crooked, worn wooden chair

A sentry tiredly watching over the lair

 

The air devoid of sound but full of smells

Moving languidly around the room

He grabbed the needle, plunged it deep

With death as his bride, he be the groom