The sawing of the neck <br />and whacking at the bone. <br />Sleep will never come to those whom wait. <br />Her eye's were never dull, the sun not then. <br />The bloody smile, dark smoke it's rise. <br />Red apples, deep blue lips, <br />brown tapered wicks. <br />Refuse garbage heaps, the dogs of war are loud. <br />Growing even closer green flowers close. <br />The rooster picks at fleash her eye's are cold. <br />One last wack the sound then quiet as the blood <br />squirts from her neck.<br /><br />Is It Poetry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blood-squirts/
