Dark museA Poem by eglantine
There lies the tip,
dark and feathered-- morose and gangrened, just below your Hell-carved tongue. Its sinews are draped with blackened flames that burn and curl around your prickled nerves. Its charred roots coil around your blistered heart, tightening your breath into steam--into speech for this is the sharp quill of night and ink the blood of dreams in flight. © 2012 eglantineFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
888 Views
22 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on October 16, 2012Last Updated on October 16, 2012 |

Flag Writing