Your body covered in black spots
Death making his mastermind plots
Lying on the floor dead
With sores blood red
The killer has refused to be tame
Will he ever get bored of this ghastly game
When will they learn the fleas are to blame
They are the ones bringing all pain
Just across the London walls
Lay buboes the size of tennis balls
- Author: theblackcat ( Offline)
- Published: March 2nd, 2016 14:15
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 22
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.