Horror Story
S
Sheena Blackhall
0
Altın Yaprak
I dismember the past like a butcher
My hands sticky with blood
The hatchet in my hand
Performs a hopeless autopsy
The present cowers in terror,
The stink of loss and guilt in its wake
I visit the thorny bush, remembrance
Like a crow, seeking its nest
No solace in its shadows
No rest, no rest
Bu şiiri puanla
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