Monday, October 9, 2017

The Slaughter House


















































Upon the darkened mountain


Rested a little house


Each passer by called it


The slaughter house.





No one lived there


By the nights.


Only spirits untamed


Walking in and out.





By day the sun soaked


The blood pools 


Leaving nothing behind


To doubt.





Nobody knew


who killed whom.


Where does the corpse hide


Only the staunch smell of flesh...





 Flows away...everywhere.





image :arquapetrarca.info


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