Stalk

Our silvered friend, a foe they call, creeps delicate upon

hands replace tissues torn away, of my controversy's delight.

Though it were not you who found a literal blood-bath in which she bathed

a sin in its own rightful test, 

while you betrayed her every though, corruption of teased out teared

remorse, holds open many a branches, rough edged serrated needles, sedated

of lifeless wholesome granules. You could sway her in the wind you know,

as wheat on a summer's day, of course then it'd be torn away

you act similarly for profits of the mind, unconscientious, consolable forever not 

prolonged.    

   

Reviews

[Wondering Mind]

very interesting concept here