mythoughtspill.com

Quite exciting, isn’t it? Writing death threats?

Old receipts crumble a delicacy,

Where tastes account for nothing,

A bird on the window,

And the wind whisper a shadow.

The sky is red as the devil,

Hands tied in litter,

I’ve got no taste for peace,

While wars are ranging.

Disturbance….

Sick and slick with ignited oil,

Silk skins bursting as,

The dimensions collide,

Theres a wolf at the door,

And am all alone.