It slithers in the night,
And chokes me from behind,
The poison from its bite,
My heart, I fear, it finds.
A pulsing disaster,
Through my fragile veins,
My body, it masters,
With suffocating pain.
An endless fissure grows,
As darkness blurs my sight,
The skull and bones, it knows,
That it shall win this fight.
I stare into His eyes,
As I greet my demise,
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My Thoughts on the World and My Writing
The content of this journal can range from passing thoughts in the style of stream of conciousness to intense stories, poetries, and prose.
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Guardian of Agape
Community Member |
