Strange Hate

I’ll drink to your death,
with a strange kind of hate.
I’ll arrive very early,
so I won’t be late.

It should come,
as no surprise.
I’ve taken you head,
and removed your eyes.

Now I can rest,
knowing you’re gone.
All that’s left,
is burial at dawn.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s