He is young
the boy buried.
On the moors,
On the moors,
alone
poor boy.
A young boy
In a shallow grave
Alone
A young knave,
Where murder is paved...
Myra the murderer
She induces the vomit
the hatred
the torid.
She fucked them
hurt them
made them so horrid.
The gentle beat of the drummer boy
the gentle beat.
Cries of home.
Cries of mummy
fell onto the cold scales of her skin
As they writhed and melted into their child graves
Within
their childlike
damp
shallow
caves.
About Me
- prettyintelligentprincess
- Turrets and Spires, Near the sea., United Kingdom
- An imperfect mother. An unfaithful wife. A career professional. Waiting to feel the stone thrown at her by the one without sin.
No comments:
Post a Comment