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My Poems
My poems or short stories, will be different than any other. Maybe more horror, I don't know, what do you think? Comment. Don't Steal. Don't Copy.
The Painter
Your skin is feather
white, and I imagine,

Littering your face
with half-moon marks;
I imagine.

The noises you'd make,
like a chalkboard,
darling,

and I'm going to be the nails.

Your screams
will be thunder,
a train screeching to a stop.

I imagine
your eyes
are full of our dreams,

And I'll bring the nightmares
to the surface;

Your skin is feather-white,
darling. you are a canvas waiting

To be drenched
in blood.





 
 
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