You killed her, That girl in red. Slit her throat with silent breath, Defiled her body with stony glare. Now her blood feeds the ground As she asks for help, And you ignore.
Imagine you are in a forest, surrounded by tranquil noise and vaguely refreshing scents. Yet a damp and opaque mist hangs in the air around you, rendering you almost blind.
His venomous tongue, the wild beggar Buried in spit and lies, Wants intimate embrace, a private kiss That brings tears to your heart. With a twirl of venom.
Mr Nugget, the owl, flew through the forest, his brilliant green plumage gleaming in the moonlight. Below he saw a mouse, such a tasty sight. “Hoot!” said he, “I’ll have that for my tea”