By Daniel J. MacTaggart
I often wonder about a rose,
And ask if it feels pain,
Ive torn you from the home you had,
And sought to see you slain.
No deed you did has brought your fate,
But slay you now i must,
You body will become a gift,
A macabre symbol of lust.
For you there'll be no coffin,
No burial, no wake.
Everything you had is mine,
There nothing left to take,
But the next time that i give you,
Ill slow and take a breath
Ill look into my lovers eyes,
And she'll enjoy your death.
1 comment:
*swoons*
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