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Alive or dead, the sword I took up when I tried to survive, the teeth in a smile and the sunset's glow on the final mile...and do you know that my revolver is a cold, grim weight against my hip, every bullet in the beshadowed barrel a revenant. Sheep or wolf I cannot tell the difference.
All hail the Crimson King. The field of roses and the cruel twist of a million thorns rules everything.
All hail the Crimson King. The field of roses and the cruel twist of a million thorns rules everything.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 120 x 90px
File Size 580 B
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