Upon the mourn of the 13th I rose Bewinged with bitterments, - TopicsExpress



          

Upon the mourn of the 13th I rose Bewinged with bitterments, devilries, and impure soliloquies, My voice a wolf and lust, blood, The green mist at the gates doth flood Yet I make love to my beloved dead Whose hearts now pulse and throb Yearning to march their somber march Through forlorn paths into obscurity... For on this day a curse uplifted The dead shall haunt as the living remain As carrion within their graven clutch...
Posted on: Fri, 13 Sep 2013 19:38:57 +0000

Trending Topics



Recently Viewed Topics




© 2015