Therese Anne Schmidt
Comments about Therese Anne Schmidt
Around, all around, the dark memories gather.
My dread grows as the headsman's axe
falls against my neck.
It severs me, and darkly my blood drips
to the cold, uncaring tombstones.
In unholy terror I flail madly
while the Reaper laughs cruelly.
Now alone, my blood falls upon uncaring eyes
This is your love.