Poetry Blog by The Black Bile (Macabre)

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Macabre Theater

entry picture

She Hides Behind Her Hair 
Here In The Macabre Theater.
Because All My Memories Are Fuzzy 
Like Old Movies
And He Walks,
And He’s Not Even A Person.
I Flick The Flashlight On.
All This Anticipation 
For The Suicidal Thieves Of Night.
Into The River Of Styx,
We’re Back Into The Water.
We Could Let Him Leave,
We Could Let Him Live,
But Why Bother?
He’s Not Even A Person.

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