• lance_arthur 10w

    Poem 234

    I got a subterranean destination. A place is mass conscious and violent. The ghosts there don't need to be silent.
    Needled up arms and legs the people here still carry the plague.
    The season is ripe with pain and ensures the devil is the bed you lay.
    Fortunes' thoughts carry you home but you must be clean for the hours in a dark room. No need to leave so soon it's a beautiful pale afternoon.
    Here the dead are the revival of time and take your ticket to enhance your mind, this is all a perfect design.
    Hanging from a limb a soul is to spin, so easy with sin.
    So travel to this place and give up the ghost the vapors of life will be forever in the oblivious host.
    Whatever you perform is a trick of thieves if living by a greedy dream. Till you tear apart at the seams.