Madness Poems Whispered Words Wicked Words Wrapped In Sin Wrapped In Words

My Withered Hand – Unhinged Poem

Catatonic whispers said on the bed of death, how the pretty kids lie on their feet, symptoms of a withering hand, upheld not without, a fornicated system, a mirror showing the true face of your insanity,  a mirror that’s more like a window, an opening, a hole, somewhere to venture,  a perfect place…

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