He moves along
destruction calling his name.
He steals the breath
of the ones who wish
they would've survived
the wreckage that his
existence constructed.
The harder you look
the less vague this
all comes to be.
Hidden in these lines are
horrid tales of the once loved
& the wishful could have been-s.
Subtract the introduction
cut straight to the aftermath.
Your swollen veins are followed
by these empty thoughts.
Try and rescue the masses
but it's far too late.
He's growing taller by the minute,
his shadow kills all that is below.
Hardware. Get me the tools.
About a boy?
About a killer?
Isn't this one in the same?
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Comments: 7
Lovely work Danielle!
CC MirandaLove is felt with the same veracity that the addiction to drugs is for some people. View it as the thing that seems so pure grows into something so horrible.
This poem is about both in a way. Love is a drug.
Jessica & Ed H Thank you.
Wade You are true. In both senses.