Rub it all over me
Dip me in your hypocrisy
Write until I bleed
To heal my wounds
The die is cast
There is nothing more for you to do
We’re on this path now
No way to know where it’s leading
Just sit her
And watch the wounds heal from the bleeding
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UFO
Unexpected friends Flying high above our world Observing us all Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
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