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Post by Lestat on Mon May 12, 2014 9:26 pm

Looking out at that quaint little hill,
Looking at that broken down asylum tower,
Wishing that you where here,
But a I look upon that asylum,
I see your face looking through that window,
I look at you,
Watching you, Watching me, Watching you,
Ever so slowly I walk up that quaint little hill,
IT'S morning the loss of the sun,
While placid clouds brush me with there rain,
Walking through the rushed wet gate.

Seeing the broken glass, fallen bricks, twisted wire,
But look,
Laid upon a grave of sun bleached bones,
You lay there surrounded in every type of flower petal,
Is this your grave?,
Is this where you want to die,
Looking upon these walls,
Years of vandalized brick walls tell not of abuse but of love.

© Lestat de lioncourt. All rights reserved

Posts : 523
Join date : 2014-05-12
Location : Closer than you think.

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