#FightNightThursday
Gold-hued chestnut tresses,
Fashioned anew from memory,
Dear Noah, of the horrors you will never know.
Thy amber-emerald hued eyes,
Shall again know my treachery,
Great Gods, save his heart from woe.
Soft golden skin lies beside me,
No longer bound by society,
Where our love was morally corrupted.
Yet it is your quiet presence
In moments of clear sobriety
That once more I find myself disgusted.
With upturned nose you walk,
Cautioned to shadows that flit about you
Mine own hands the darkness you cannot contemplate.
With lush lips you softly speak,
Truths that I cannot for your sake pursue.
For by my hands, your soul I will once again separate.
The undead call,
My way back home,
And you shall be the sacrifice I fear to let go.
YOU ARE READING
30 Days Of Undead Summer
HorrorWhat then, pray tell, does one do when faced with an armada of the undead. None of the ghouls and restless spirits that haunt the great Tower of Baptism. Discounting Perceval the Wandering Necromancer and his own demonic specters and platoon of bone...
