Words of loath lick the air and hang in hushed crevices, murmurs of soft trembles blossoming on their bronzed-skins. They taunt him in silent voices, dripping with malice and biting into the his back as he, a thorned creature, teeters on a land of scented flowers.
And so they whisper, raw curses pouring out of their tongue;
❝ UNTIL THE SKIES BLEED TEARS, MAY THIS CURSE ENGULF THE WORLD AND ENFOLD IT IN ENDLESS WOE. ❞
YOU ARE READING
WICKED HEARTS
Poetry❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞ do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ 𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
