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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Dark · #1922142
Poetry - Suicide's Dress Rehersal
It’s Suicides dress rehearsal
And she’s feeling rather nervous
There’s a dead flower in her hair and
Violet, Violent spider webs in her alabaster skin

It’s Suicides dress rehearsal
Her dress whispers like a death rattle
And her eyes are bleak dark pools

It’s suicides dress rehearsal
She’s playing Death tonight
Whispers in their heads
A chorus of woe

Death’s main performance
And the lights are way down low
The girls are swallowing their salvation
Pure white capsules offering all
The nooses swing slowly
And Death’s curtain soon shall fall
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