In the sand box he plays The perfect place to smell his body decay The little boy seems unafraid Blood drops on white roses. Rubbing up against him he smiles Just one soul in sight for miles Should I spare the life of this child? Blood drops on white roses. A gentle pat apon my head I'll give this child his life ahead No weeping tears, no pawprints left of red Blood drops on white roses.Birth sign: Pisces
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Dark Angel.