Your skin is feather
white, and I imagine,
Littering your face
with half-moon marks;
I imagine.
The noises you'd make,
like a chalkboard,
darling,
and I'm going to be the nails.
Your screams
will be thunder,
a train screeching to a stop.
I imagine
your eyes
are full of our dreams,
And I'll bring the nightmares
to the surface;
Your skin is feather-white,
darling. you are a canvas waiting
To be drenched
in blood.
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My Poems
My poems or short stories, will be different than any other. Maybe more horror, I don't know, what do you think? Comment. Don't Steal. Don't Copy.
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