Longing rage to possess that which isn’t yours.
Dark untamed roads for her pink pedicured feet.
It doesn’t matter if the night is dark
When there are vintage lanterns,
To light up the streets.
If you often find yourself lost in thoughts
Let them all be flowery.
Why give room to the dark and dreary.
The days turn shorter and darker.
The skies have snuggled inside a grey blanket of clouds.
Trees stand stark naked begging for mercy
With their skeletal hands towards the skies.
The wind continually snores,
When disturbed its shrill howls will make one scamper.
Half-past 4 and the town is deserted,
Silence is all that remains.
Day 30 Inktober – Ominous
It was a full moon night,
A black raven was in sight,
Was that a howling cry?
Something ominous seems to arise.
Day 23 Inktober – Rip
Ripping the RIP apart!
They decided to decorate their lawn as a graveyard for Halloween. Little did they know that the skeleton lying underneath the RIP grave would rip it apart and haunt their night.
Day 17 Inktober – Storm
The crackling of lightning is terrifying.
Yet, every time there is a storm,
Our eyes eagerly search the clouds
To get a glimpse of that flashing bolt of lightning again.
Storms are dark yet fascinating.
“What’s with those pink heels, everyday?” I ask.
To which she replied,
“Helps me deal with the darkness within.”
Silence of the night
Was broken by a
Shrill distant scream.