Orange, red and bisque
A cloud of hateful mist,
The scent of rabid scarlet
A nightmare in my midst.

The wind grew stale,
Running away from death’s game
And the ashes of my fate,
Crumbled in pain.

Those voices spelt hate
Unwavering rage,
Their chosen trade
The devil’s game.

Falling flakes
Of lives disowned,
Burning hope
My bruised soul shook.

That metal death
Peircing through,
Heart and death
And that last breath.

Those words of death
Layed upon my crate,
Poisoned by hateful traits
Of scheming mates.

It’s too late
The sun’s horizon waits,
It wasn’t death by that metal
But by your heart brittle.

8 Comments on “End.

  1. Very well written, child you really have a way with words. Stay blessed and keep writing


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