Cuts bleeding silver,
our skin sweating gold;
we live in the mountains,
like in the stories they told.
Our castle is waiting;
built for the kings.
What are we made of?
What are we worth?
We never fill pockets,
we always deprive
people of oxygen,
food, and the like.
The pearls lay hanging
proud on our necks,
while tin children
are fighting, like
birds in a nest.
YOU ARE READING
Gentle Screams and Glass Figurines
Poetry"Nothing can protect us from the human screams, as the fire of anarchy intoxicates our once innocent minds." ~~~~~~ A collection of poems about life, death, and everything in between. Dark, deep, and horror poetry intended to make you think abou...
