My banshee
In the darkest hour
she comes
It's the banshee and
she is after me
Her icy hands clasp around my throat
They stick there
like magnet to steel
But dawn is breaking
and she wont stay long
The first beam of light
will send her home
and all that is left is the smell
of sour grapes
...and hope
/Hannah
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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