Aberdeen
Scattered lights.
April nights.
Exodus spirited secret flights.
Dried and Died
That stolen book.
If you read, you’ll judge
..but please just look.
Angel hair, my chest lay still
My Muse, My heart-shaped Love to kill.
And it will all seem,
like an opiate dream.
With no truth to whisper
No blood to spill
Acoustic Funeral
flowers in bloom
The poetic sense
of Impending Doom
