Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

The Voices

Blood running down my leg, passing the ankle. I look down, I am in a puddle of blood. The darkness of the color. It forms a picture. It gives the voices a face. I start to speak, the puddle begins to ripple. The face goes away. They are frightned. Gothic Dragon

Stuff

Home
Angst Poetry
Gothic Dragon's Journal Home
Tales from the Goths of the Earth