Wait to wail.

This grey havens of this purgartory, only one can gather the wailing love of a banshee.

© oliver a. melendez.

© all artworks and poetry by ohms / @rstydhude

@cp2.xii

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Wings of the dead

I wander,

as to wonder,

the lands of this dwellers,

that my robes cannot,

and would not touch the ground,

albeit my sinewy ones,

chills to my eye.

Death did not cast me,

nor life wanted not to ressurect me,

thus

do i will,

ever. . .

Wander as i worry,

wail as to lament.

So please if you do see me, look not at me,

yet never speak,

nor touch,

thus your eyes see,

the truth lies not in front but never forget

what is in past and back of your history.

🤖👾👽🤖🤖👽🤖

© oliver a. melendez.

© all artworks and poetry by ohms / @rstydhude

@cp2.x

Shock me over

The will of all that is,

that were,

that longs to have each other,

is that forloned effect,

when you had died loving one so obssessively

obtused not by life,

nor love,

nor what ever humor of a horror,

that entails and snares my bone

to no other lover.

😮🤐😮🤐😮🤐😎😎😀

© oliver a. melendez.

© all artworks and poetry by ohms / @rstydhude

@Vb 47

Chill me a spine

Let me drag my past, as i grimace my future of no tommorows.

😲😲😲😲😨😨😨😨😨

© oliver a. melendez.

© all artworks and poetry by ohms / @rstydhude

@Vb 56