It's too dark,
with the lights turned out.
All the spiders on the wall,
and ghosts in the hall.
My thoughts,
all dead
in my head.
A twisted heart cries worse
Than the sirens at midnight,
screaming on your shore.
So
rip my chest apart,
face the wrath of inner demons
and white out my eyes.
Ghosts in the hall,
a face covered in a hood,
bruised knees and
my underground comes apart.
Your spirit is stuck to my sides.
And you never could see me.













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The brotherhood of dark writers is on the rise. With pens in hand we will write for all to see.
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