PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

my bloody hands grow cold,

numbed by the chilling air.

I sat and watched you fall,

shortly after my blade pirced your skin.

I never thought you'd push e this far.

My mistakes caused this to happen,

and now I have no reaction.

But to fall to floor and lay next to you,

while you die.

Let the blood stain my cloths,

letit stay on my cold hands.

Who though so much pain could come from a single blade.

Who ever though that suck a pain ful death could come from a piece of metal.

This is my description of death meatl.