Poems, general writings, ravings, and other things.

From your quiet cloud so high up, you see me
Standing over your rotting corpse
And giggling
Like a little schoolgirl
Stomach sliced open
Entrails hanging in a tree like Christmas tinsel
Eyes rolled back
Peering into your own mind
You are not the first
To bathe me in your fluid
I paint my front door red with the blood of the innocent