The living don't reside here.
This is not my home.
Souls left to disappear,
inside a soil filled dome
None gathered here to mourn,
no black cloth or priest
Only the man with a silver thorn,
and his victim, the deceased
My mom and dad still feel my loss,
but they could not attend
Lost evermore under an unmarked cross,
as a madman mourns my end.
YOU ARE READING
Monkeys Fighting Badgers
Short StoryA collection of various small works I've done over the last two years. These are short stories either waiting to be turned into full books or that were done for writing exercises and challenges that don't really fit anywhere else, but ones I thought...
