Regret it a skeleton.
His bones are made of lead.
He wont stop talking.
He sits on my bed.
Out from his sockets
Blood does drip
As he pours me poison
that I continually sip.
His skull is cracked
And from it you can see
A heart sits
where his brain should be.
Published by Brooke F.
I’m a college student who has unrealistic dreams of being a famous authoress who writes mystery novels. Either that or a goblin... haven't decided which. I live on a farm up on a hilltop where the wind likes to mess up my hair and the trees sway poetically in the wind.
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By the Brooke 