I'm a young poet, but I bleed and breathe ink. All my poetry comes from memories, experience, or dreams.
I cling to mommy's finger tips
As I lay dying
The church steps are filled to the brim with the stench of corpse
Come risiedo nella morte
...
Hold fast & don't slip away
I'll hold you close under the police lights
I'll kiss you in the light of the sirens
We'll watch the whole world decay
...