Ghosts? Vampires? Ha! I scoff at such petty frights...
So these words will bleed me,
I feel as though I should be dead,
And I probably should be,
But I'm not!
I curse this world and the next,
Not to mention my empty cot,
I am hexed!
And unbelievably vexed,
Scarecrows and masks
Ghouls and goblins,
Mad scientists with flasks,
Escapees from the looney bins,
Do not faze me!
Jack-O-lanterns and vampires,
Hay-rides and haunted homes,
Killers for hire,
And those freaky lawn gnomes!
I take all in stride,
For death is not the worst,
Life can be an even greater devil,
I am plagued and cursed,
At an immortal level,
Without you!
Tis my fault,
This spell you swallowed,
And I cannot bring this to a halt,
So, I sit here and wallow,
In my pain,
And my pity,
From this I have not a thing to gain!
You were smart and witty,
And now, I sit on your grave and weep,
I dug this grave upon which I sit,
And not a peep,
Comes from the souls of long ago,
Knowing that to your demise, I was the key,
And no amount of begging, favors, or dough,
Will do the trick 'cause the devil that killed you is in me!
Poetry by Brielle Guesstell
Read 474 times
Written on 2007-02-18 at 19:34
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Welcome To My Halloween
I write in red,So these words will bleed me,
I feel as though I should be dead,
And I probably should be,
But I'm not!
I curse this world and the next,
Not to mention my empty cot,
I am hexed!
And unbelievably vexed,
Scarecrows and masks
Ghouls and goblins,
Mad scientists with flasks,
Escapees from the looney bins,
Do not faze me!
Jack-O-lanterns and vampires,
Hay-rides and haunted homes,
Killers for hire,
And those freaky lawn gnomes!
I take all in stride,
For death is not the worst,
Life can be an even greater devil,
I am plagued and cursed,
At an immortal level,
Without you!
Tis my fault,
This spell you swallowed,
And I cannot bring this to a halt,
So, I sit here and wallow,
In my pain,
And my pity,
From this I have not a thing to gain!
You were smart and witty,
And now, I sit on your grave and weep,
I dug this grave upon which I sit,
And not a peep,
Comes from the souls of long ago,
Knowing that to your demise, I was the key,
And no amount of begging, favors, or dough,
Will do the trick 'cause the devil that killed you is in me!
Poetry by Brielle Guesstell
Read 474 times
Written on 2007-02-18 at 19:34
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
