Cold fingers touch the skin Deadly whispers set in The hollow sound of a cry goodbye Making people want to die The face is blank The voice dead No thoughts pass threw the head A bony hand reaches to you spiriling to your doom On the face of the dead theres an unearthly glow That you dont want to know
EDIT:A poem i wrote when i was like...umm 12 i think.....Yup quite sure it was 12 ^ ^'
Cellophane Rainbows · Wed Feb 14, 2007 @ 02:20am · 2 Comments |