Poetry Blog by The Black Bile (Macabre)
Macabre (Remove filter)
Macabre Theater
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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Friday 17th May 2019 4:06 pm
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