365 Days of Creativity
day fourty two
The only bullet in a barrel of six,
the way his eyes see through my tricks.
The match that lights a body ablaze,
the woman that walks into the haze.
A lone wolf that stalks his pitiful prey,
The weapons used to finish and slay.
Skin tattooed with art as ink,
the mind that teeters upon the brink.
A pale horse that rides in times of dusk,
The deep scents of angels covered in musk.
A song that bares the soul for taste,
the blood that’s spilled in fractured haste.
The tree with hands of skeletons,
the water through the desert runs.
These things I find as beautiful,
as painted lips on porcelain skull.
Clever words are my disguise,
trust not who romanticize.
the way his eyes see through my tricks.
The match that lights a body ablaze,
the woman that walks into the haze.
A lone wolf that stalks his pitiful prey,
The weapons used to finish and slay.
Skin tattooed with art as ink,
the mind that teeters upon the brink.
A pale horse that rides in times of dusk,
The deep scents of angels covered in musk.
A song that bares the soul for taste,
the blood that’s spilled in fractured haste.
The tree with hands of skeletons,
the water through the desert runs.
These things I find as beautiful,
as painted lips on porcelain skull.
Clever words are my disguise,
trust not who romanticize.
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