She stared at Raven in a long second of shocked silence, before sagging to the floor.
Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breathNo spine to shiver, no heart talks At life__ craving poverty mocksFrom the poem 'Exhumation
To Evince the Blue
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Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breathNo spine to shiver, no heart talks At life__ craving poverty mocksFrom the poem 'Exhumation
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Rain turned to ice,and lightning splintered, it splicedthe black sky, it seeped a bright white.All animals they fled,from the sky as it bled,pale death that fell veiling the night.
Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.
Wrath crawled out from the well,on direction from Hell,to get back what it once lost.With vengeance in mind,it set out to find,a specified soul to accost.When the Hell-well beckoned,Mother__ will now reckoned,her dead soul now wholly enslaved.Embodied in a rotting husk,the corpse reeked of putrid musk,her being wholly depraved.
When life is a horror....Don't look like a ghost!
We're not in a fairytale story. This is not a movie. Scriptwriters don't write our fates. We do.