Literature
Might be home
For a place so lost and twisted,
And a place so forlorn,
A place so crooked,
Maleficent.
It’s a place that chills you to the bone,
And pulls your guts in a knot,
It drags your sanity away with every breathe,
Hollow.
The screams will be songbirds singing at dawn,
Necks snapping will be multi-coloured leaves crunching under your feet,
And blood will rain down on you like a spring shower,
Merciless.
Only turning back will keep you stable,
But you’re forced to go over the edge,
The angel on your shoulders screams no,
But the demon you’ve befriended grabs your hand and whispers,
“Yes!”
Maleficent.
Hollow.
Mercile