My death stares at me,
It points and speaks,
Calling my name and
Tearing it to pieces.
Impaled, my pride bleeds,
Hanging lifeless, it dies.
Yet, that is only my pride,
There is more left to devour.
My death in Technicolor,
Displayed for the world
To see on a big screen;
Many like a macabre movie.
Sit back, enjoy the show.
My death will begin shortly.
It will be slow and torturous
To ensure your money's worth.
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: April 30th, 2017 20:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
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