Faceless Phantoms'
The dirt of the church sepulcher,
still clung to the cloth of her coat,
and her blond hair,
as she looked like an angel,
dragged in the ashes,
and through hell itself.
I turned my face down and vomited,
a thin stream of red glittering blood,
upon the steps beneath me,
which vanished as we moved,
swiftly on.
The screams pierced the rumbling,
again and again,
without rhythm or warning,
making my blood chill to the bone.
As mask of clay,
fell from their faces,
broken,
faceless phantom's,
who manged,
to escape their fate.
By starstruck13
© 2009 starstruck13
(All rights reserved)
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