My Very Own Darkly Gothic Poem

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http://www.deadlounge.com/poetry/poem4.html

the blackest gift

It is a night of ethereal pain, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness. The thirsting one
stirs.
Curling, icy wisps of death shrouds her pale form,
an eternal agony.
Her raven hair cascades over
pale shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale esh beneath
her.
Now a night of new awareness,
I rise.

07-02-2014 18:54