in this blood filled hour,
we like to feed,
to pray,
to kill,
to shed the blood so easily,
innocent or not,
young or old,
all will fall pray to,
the ultimate hunters of the night,
when we kill,
we leave a mess,
blood staining our vest or dress,
on the walls,
we create our way of art,
dripping off the ceiling,
a bloody canvas,
only we can create,
fear in there hearts,
of what we do,
until the silent dawn,
we then creep our way home,
careful not to get caught by the sun,
least we be turned to ashes,
to never see the dark nights,
in which we live.
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The Phases of my Life
This is a place I'm going to be putting up most of my poems, no one has to read them but if you do I would really like to know what you think of them. If you could please leave a comment or message me about it I would be thankful.
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Blood_drenched_okami
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User Comments: [3]
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User Comments: [3]