Ain't no sunshine today.
The devils won't let you look up that way.
These chains rattle and shake.
This rigid spine is about to brake.
Heat pounds the sweat out of my head.
Circling vultures think us dead.
Voices, voices in my skull.
I'm a ship with a broken hull.
We'll nail ourselves to the cross you've built.
Bury me with my tool; blade, pommel and hilt.
- Author: Noah ( Offline)
- Published: August 17th, 2017 02:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Comments1
Dark theme. I like it. Keep it up.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.