Sleep draping consciousness
the night would seem calm,
through the open window,
death blows head-long
past the dust gray paintings,
nearing the piercing hall,
slithering upon the bone-dry stair,
the monster heeds his siren's call.
silently break the threshold,
breath in the victims air,
standing still at the headboard,
at her neck, all is fair,
lay were the angel rests,
and kiss her goodnight,
go on now. slip in those pearl needles,
noone will know, save candles light
all her beautys color drained,
what poor fool will suffer the blame?
for to the, death doesnt exsist,
but he doesnt under sun's rain.
- -Markus Robinson