• alexanderstark12 6w

    Poem 73

    Sleeper man
    You left a bitter taste
    To my mouth, your potion
    Does not cure 

    The frails, the pale
    Kins of mine with their black tooth
    Aches.Their terrible headaches 
    Shakes violently until it erupt 

    From their mouths. Acid sprayed
    Like the spitting snake
    Spit on the faces
    Of the lands of its home.