Creative Writing short poems

the world is but a paradox at your humble feet
in illusions of happiness, riddled with deceit
darkness encroaches and the future looks bleak
fret not little sheep, the earth is for the meek



Broken glass. crushed roses. blood splatters on the floor

Empty souls for the taking. sir. now please shut the door

Listless eyes watch Indian bells. thou strike sadistic nails

Come to me my mecca. through god's eighteen hells

Feathers floating in the wind. dead birds cry the cries

In the neverlasting twilight. for no one you tell your lies






I await someone to tell me which goth am I.


P. S. these are from january

RPfishh (that is me)

 

i liked them...

you're super goth.