Poetry Blogs (Film Noir)
Rose Casserley on Is it me, or am I now living in a Rumplestiltskin world? (13 hours ago)
A silence fell upon the city,
contorted shadows twisting moonlight.
Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced
bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers
in an unforgiving wind.
The wretched odour of deprivation
a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.
Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap
and by night the vampires feast on thei...
Tuesday 9th April 2013 4:44 pm