In the time of the equinox, when the moon ran red. I was born in a grave, where my mother lay dead. I crawled from that pit, as the church bell tolled. But I live with my mothers maggots, that feast on my soul.
Reason for writing:
None givenBirth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by A Wretch!!.