Writing,
a blood code.
Manipulating the taint.
Path,
towards the violence,
had the tribal instinct.
Scent,
of testosterone,
was the key thread.
You,
will not know, what
I conceive of the coming onslaught.
Constellation,
was ready to strike.
I am not myself today.
O, life, we will never know each other.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 16th, 2018 20:03
- Category: Nature
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments1
I sense some dark inscription from this, and I must say that I enjoy it. Well done.
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