Black Poetry : Destruction of mental play Da underworld arrives


Jul 2, 2003
While I give out the treats
I sit with my hand on the grip, Of my weapon

This night has turned into dark
Strangers knocking at your door
The only night you gladly open a sore

I know some dread this night yearly
For it reminds of the fiery
I will be glad when it over
It should be outlawed and done away quick

One's no face u can't trace

and his beings u can't place
only his darkness in ya face
a destructional nasty taste

He's deeper then any unknown

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cherryblossom wrote on watzinaname's profile.
Dropping by to say, "Hi!" ,sister Watz. Hope all is well.
cherryblossom wrote on WARRIOR's profile.
Hey, Warrior! Right On!