These scorched nights that haunt the very souls
Where abouts of the unrested beneath our feet they lay.
Not for the sake, pleading with sorrow,
tastes for vengeance in the word of crys.
Although their screams tempt the wretched lifeless form,
their useless excuse of a live flesh feeder scented its layer.
Thrusting through the bumpy surface mother nature intended to keep
beasts away and secure from father of time to the deep seas.
Ripples from the ground fall, the sounds viciously
quiver in the distance, within time, death ticks at the palm of ur hands.
Know so little but do so much with what's left..
Tuesday, January 31, 2012